The Artist's Touch (A Gentlemen's Guild Novel)
by Dr. Becky Sharp
Summary: Tristan Black, artist and head of the Gentlemen's Guild, has lost his most prized possession - a portrait of his mother made before she died. The man he lost it to refuses its return unless Tristan makes him a portrait of his daughter. Determined to seek revenge on the daughter for being blackmailed by her father, Tristan decides to break her heart. That is, until he meets Ellie.
1. Preface

**Disclaimer: This is a contemporary romance story and NOT a _strict_ 50 Shades fan fiction. This story was written in the style and genre similar to 50 Shades but does not include those specific characters. It does however include secrets and a contract. Continue reading at your own risk :)**

 **Preface**

 _For the love of art._

That was their motto – their passion – their purpose.

The Gentlemen's Guild, as they are collectively known, is a group of three world-renown, yet anonymous, artists. All billionaires in their own right, the Guild was formed out of their exceptional talent and love for art.

It all began nine years ago, as friends, Tristan Black, Sloane Peterson, and Pierce Lane, left school and took the business world by storm, and the rest of the world took notice. However, it was the other half of their partnership that had developed since then that kept the world enthralled. Being owners of some of the largest corporations in the world was a boring accomplishment compared to being members of the Gentlemen's Guild and here's why:

Being young, successful, and confident in their skills, they boldly shook the art world with their unannounced and brazen arrival. They'd planned and prepared their entrance for almost a year, working through every option, every scenario, to make sure that it would make a statement, would make them known, in the most dramatic way – because when you aren't doing it for the money, why would try to play by the rules? Why would you want to?

The Gentlemen's Guild paid, exorbitantly, to host a private exhibit at the Met with only three pieces listed to be displayed – Michelangelo's "The Birth of Adam," Bernini's "David," and Da Vinci's "Last Supper;" the invitation challenged the world's top art critics, analysts, curators, and professors to find a flaw in any one of them, with a reward of $1 million to the person who could prove that the pieces weren't the originals, but were forgeries. It was a dare to the entire art community, and the potential participants were more than intrigued; weren't all these pieces already in museums? Was this 'Guild' planning on stealing them? Were they a guild of thieves or were these artists just that good?

Banking on the presumptive over-confidence of the critic community, so assured in themselves that a forged artwork would never pass as authentic under their inspection, and with just the right amount of publicity, the world was on edge as to what was actually going to be shown at this exhibit. Museums went on high alert, all of the experts flocked to New York City to prove their worth, that no forger was too good for them, especially when it came to some of the most iconic artworks of all time.

Clothed in skepticism, the experts came, astonished by what they saw – the pieces were there and without any tools or tests, they looked to be the originals! A few minutes of hectic chaos ensued, mostly on the part of the handful of curators frantically trying to reach their museums where these pieces were _supposed_ to be currently residing. To their surprise, all of their associates assured them that the original works were still safe and secure, that these must be forgeries.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," came an authoritative voice over the speaker system, "my name is, well, you can call me Michelangelo. I apologize for your confusion; the pieces that you see in front of you, I assure you, are not in fact the original works, but copies that myself and other artists in the Gentlemen's Guild have created. I invite you to examine the works, touch them, test them, and see for yourself if, with all of your knowledge and skills, you are able to discern that, aside from my assurance, these are fakes."

With that announcement, the back of the exhibition hall lit revealing desks, microscopes, lights, radiographic machines, and the standard chemical tests used to authenticate any and all great works of art. Enthusiastically, the invitees descended on the paintings and sculpture, determined to find flaws in these seemingly perfect reproductions.

After an hour, with no one able to find a single piece of evidence to suggest that these were not the originals, and unable to personally confirm the presence of the masterpieces in their own museums, anxieties began to raise at the thought of the two possible explanations – either the pieces were real, meaning that there were fakes hanging in the museums, stolen out from underneath them, or they had been unable to identify a forgery, failed at their job.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you for your cooperation and expertise. I can see that none of you have been able to indicate any errors in the works to prove that they are fake. I now invite you to turn the paintings over. There is a man coming around with a vial of solution that I want you to paint on back of the canvas and then place the work underneath the UV-light."

Again, the experts did as Michelangelo requested. A gasp of astonishment spread throughout the crowd. With the solution on the canvas, the black-light clearly showed the words, 'The Gentlemen's Guild' woven into the thread of the canvas; something that was a clear impossibility of being found on the original. In shock, they stood, acknowledging their failure to detect a forgery.

Bernard Park, the curator of the Met stepped forward, demanding into the room what the point was of this demonstration? Asking what they are trying to prove with this exercise and lastly, questioning the sculpture as there had been no instructions to examine that.

"I'm glad you asked, the answer to all of your questions lies in David's left hand," the voice of Michelangelo answered.

They examined the hand again, finding nothing in it or on it, just as the man who had brought the vial of solution entered again; this time, he returned with a mallet in hand. Bernard stared in horror as the man handed him the mallet, realizing what the voice now meant by 'in his hand.' There was a moment's hesitation, the thought that he could be destroying the original sculpture by Bernini probably making him nauseous. Encouraged by the other spectators that the other works had turned out to be fakes so this one must be too, Bernard picked up the mallet and smashed the hand of the sculpture. When the pieces and dust had settled, there was a rolled-up paper that had been placed in David's arm, something clearly only possible to do just as the artist began the sculpture.

Removing the paper, he unrolled it to read a letter of introduction from the Gentlemen's Guild.

 _Thank you for participating in our exercise. Rest assured, we have no intention of revealing to the world that you were unable to identify these works as forgeries. Our intent wasn't malicious; we love art and the beauty and importance it brings to the world, and our mission is only to preserve and expand that._

 _We invite you to request our services in the future for restorations and replications as you need. Our fees are substantial, but, as you can see, are well worth it._

 _If you choose to partner with us, there are two stipulations; you will allow us to hold an exhibit for charity in your museum each year to auction off original pieces of ours, with all proceeds going to your institution and two, our true identities will continue to remain anonymous._

 _We anticipate your hesitancy at our offer, so, in good faith, each of the institutions that are represented here today will be given a donation of $1 million; they will also receive an original piece of artwork from each of the members of the Guild to be displayed, and instructions on how to contact us in the future._

They were hesitant at first, but one thing had led to another and soon the Guild was _the_ first choice for restoring or completely replicating famous masterpieces; Da Vinci, Monet, Rembrandt, you name it, the chances were that it had been touched by one of them. Their first 'exhibit' had garnered the attention of news outlets around the world, and so when their art began to selectively surface in museums, the crowds descended, curious to see who had intrigued and surpassed the expectations of all of the experts in the field.

 _One auction, one exhibit, one museum._

That was what they committed to each year. Business owners by day and artists by night, they kept up their public personalities as business owners that liked to invest in art – not uncommon among their circles. They would pick a museum and a day for the auction and prepare their pieces accordingly. The museum was chosen at random, the timing of the event varied from year to year so that nothing became too predictable; predictability led to discoverability and yet, the people still came in droves. Sometimes they themed the exhibits, sometimes they didn't; it didn't matter, whatever they did ended up a success.

After their second year of success, they'd hired a manager, Morgan Wells, to handle the business end and all of the scheduling for the Guild – whether it was for restoration requests, or whether it was to set up the exhibit for that year. He handled the timing and coordination, he was the spokesperson for the Guild, and he handled the money that came in and then went right back out in donations. He was their connection to the world, their last barrier of anonymity; they let him assume the face of the Guild, and he stepped into the position with alacrity.

From the start, they agreed to never work on commissioned pieces for specific donors. Never. It was their art, they would choose the subject, they would choose how to portray them. It had been tempting at first, especially when the requests were offering hundreds of millions of dollars for a portrait of someone's wife or family or child, but they didn't need the money, which meant refusing on principle was easier.

It also became quite clear just what type of art that the Guild preferred to produce – specifically, classical-type interpretations of the female face and form, though the expressions and poses of some of them were not something you would too-commonly find in most classical art; no, the highly seductive and suggestive nature of their original pieces really caused a stir.

Visitors wondered if the models were their wives; that thought was ruled out after about a year when there had been too many different women for the subjects to be spouses. Then, the search began for the women themselves – the Guilded Girls, as they were referred to; the women who got to know the artists, who _really_ got to know the artists – or so the rumors suggested. Regardless, they would certainly know who the artists were, after sitting for someone, most times in the nude, for up to three months.

Rumors spread as to who these anonymous artists were. Many assumed that Morgan was one of them, in spite of his insistence that his artistic ability was deplorable. His denial was always half-hearted though; the fan base of women eager to meet and 'get to know' a potential member of the Guild was a temptation that he just couldn't completely pass up. As long as their true identities remained a secret, they didn't care if Morgan didn't refute the assumption by certain females that caught his interest.

The consensus though was that they were obviously very rich men, to be able to donate all proceeds from their exhibits as well as the income from their restoration work to museums and schools around the world. Maybe they were princes, royalty from Europe or the Middle East; maybe they were children of wealthy parents who had all the money and time in the world to perfect their talent and put it on display; or maybe, they were wealthy men in their own right just looking to support the world of art without wanting to take any credit. The last wasn't the most common assumption, even though it was the truth.

So, the fans decided that they were rich, handsome, and single; even though no one had any confirmation for these assumptions; they were rich because they kept none of the money, and they were handsome because, well, Morgan was incredibly good-looking and therefore, must either be one of them, or by translation, they must be of the same caliber of man. They enjoyed hearing the rumors, reading the tabloids, seeing who had found the latest clue on their identity – full well knowing that such a thing was impossible. However, not all the rumors were false; they did thoroughly enjoy getting to know the women who modeled for them, there was no denying that.

The hype to find out their identity, to become the next model, the next lover of a wealthy, gorgeous, sought-after, and anonymous artist was too alluring not to pursue and it had quickly reached the point where their next exhibit couldn't even be publicized until just a few weeks beforehand, otherwise, women would flock to the cities months before the show, just trying to figure out where the model auditions were taking place. They'd learned that the hard way, almost having to cancel their exhibit because they were being 'hunted down,' as Sloane liked to recall it, by women who wanted to sit for, and sleep with, them. After that fiasco, their auditions were held under false pretenses, the models sworn and signed to secrecy, and eventually, the masses came to accept that the mystery was part of the attraction.

Eventually, they revealed that there were three members of the Guild and gave their fans pseudonyms in order to be able to sign their works and differentiate between who produced what; Tristan became Titian, Pierce became Picasso, and Sloane, well, Sloane got stuck with Michelangelo, and was forced to sign his works with the initial of his middle name, Michael, rather than an 'S' – a task he'd balked at and complained about for months. Unfortunately, Tristan had given the name Michelangelo originally, and Sloane was the only one of them that had an 'M' in a part of his full name. This also managed to fuel the belief that Morgan was one of the three, lucking out with a name that also began with an 'M'.

In a few short years, they had taken the world by storm. Their reputation had only grown, inflated by the secrecy and anonymity surrounding the member artists, to this point where they were a world-wide sensation.

Now, entering into their seventh year, into the peak of their popularity, they were on top of the world. They'd mastered their love of art and now, it was their turn to be mastered by the art of love.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

 _This was not a good idea._

Tristan's mouth thinned into a hard line as he immediately regretted his decision. He knew better than to entertain a wager with Pierce, and yet here he was, standing at the Met, absorbing the energy of their annual charity auction. He would have rescinded his answer if Pierce hadn't disappeared so quickly into the crowd that was growing around them.

It had been seven years since they'd first displayed their art here, and they hadn't been back since. Walking through the crowd, Tristan observed in silent anonymity the excitement and speculation going on around him. A small smile broke on his face as he heard two women discussing his piece from last year's auction, speculating as to the cause of the young woman's expression of extreme pleasure.

 _Oh, he'd given her good cause._

It had been won by an older gentleman in Florence, the second piece of Tristan's – or Titian's, that the gentleman had purchased. He paused when the two women abruptly stopped their conversation catching sight of him. It never crossed his mind that they thought he was eavesdropping on them; he knew how looked and how far his striking good looks had gotten him in the past. Plus, he cleaned up well in a jet-black tux, his wavy, golden hair tamed back away from his face, emphasizing his strong jawline and warm hazel eyes. Tristan gave them a dazzling smile, waiting for their jaws to hit the floor before moved forward, further into the crowd, his brow beginning to furrow at what he was going to do about Pierce.

The last year or two, the auctions had become predictable and gone off without a hitch. Tristan was grateful for the continuity and control of routine, but Pierce, well, he was always looking to liven up their time together, always looking for a little bit of adventure. At last year's auction, he'd snuck in the model for his painting; he'd had her stand next to it to see if anyone realized that it was her. Thankfully, Tristan had realized who she was the moment he walked into the gallery and quickly told Pierce, in no uncertain terms, that she needed to leave immediately. If she was there, there was a chance she could lead someone back to one of them. Or worse, if she was there, attendees might realize that the artists themselves were there also.

They hadn't spoken for weeks after that. Tristan had been irate; they created the Guild for a specific purpose, and to maintain their life and their sanity, their identities needed to stay concealed and Pierce had jeopardized that. If he wanted to go public, Tristan told him, that was his choice, but he would be doing it alone. Begrudgingly, Pierce had apologized, admitting that he was getting bored with their auction routine, that he wanted something to change. That was months ago.

This evening, Pierce had approached him before he even made it in the gallery, deviousness glinting in his eyes.

"What did you do?" Tristan exclaimed on seeing his partner striding purposefully towards him, immediately fearing the worst.

If Tristan was a golden God, Pierce was a dark Devil. Always dressed in all black, the fitted tux accentuated his jet-black hair and his even darker eyes. The high collar on his silk black shirt hid a scar that ran down the side of his neck onto his collarbone; he always wore high collars to any event. Even though, if you asked him about it, he would say that he 'doesn't give a fuck' who sees it; when you've been to enough social gatherings with him, it was clear that the high collars were chosen for that specific purpose.

He liked to test the limits, push on Tristan's buttons. He was always plotting something, for the most part, harmless things – jokes or pranks, but sometimes, there was an edge to him, a darkness that he kept inside, kept hidden from the rest of them and that is what usually got him into trouble.

"Nothing!" Pierce insisted, throwing his hands up in mock innocence.

"I know that look… what do you want?" Tristan questioned his friend again, the skepticism in his voice ringing loud and clear.

"Well, I just happened to come across something on the way in that I thought would be fun for the three of us to do," Pierce began, a sly smile creeping onto his face, "Sloane already agreed to it…"

"Of course, he did. Sloane will do anything that you tell him to," Tristan responded a little too harshly.

The third member of their group was the quietest and most easily swayed by either of them. Sloane is brilliant when it comes to real estate and he is a master sculptor, but socially, he wasn't as outgoing or controlling as them; which is why it was usually Tristan and Pierce who butted heads, and Sloane just tried to stay out of it.

"Don't be a Negative Nancy before I even finished telling you," Pierce scolded, "the Met is hosting a competition."

Tristan cut him a sharp glance as they began to walk slowly into the gallery, not wanting to miss the start of the auction.

"In six weeks, they are hosting the travelling exhibit called the Art of Love. Fifteen artists, fifteen pieces, exhibit opens for a weekend for visitor voting and winner gets $5 million."

"No," Tristan replied flatly, "we don't do competitions."

"Says who?" he countered, "just because we haven't before doesn't mean that we can't. C'mon Tris, we need to branch out. People are going to start getting bored if we keep doing the same thing every year."

 _Well that is true._

His jaw clenched, he hated when Pierce had a point. He'd begun to wonder if they needed to do something out of the ordinary; if their yearly exhibits, while still doing well because of the hype and secrecy surrounding them, had begun to feel stagnant. Maybe it was all in his head, then again, Pierce was quite skilled at getting inside his head.

"We don't produce art for money," Tris countered, "and no matter how much you whine, _that_ is part of our mission statement."

"So then just give the money away! Or back to the museum! Who gives a shit?" he argued. "We just need to do something different, _fuck._ Remember how we got started? Shock and awe is what got us noticed; we need to bring some of that back."

"I don't think it's a good idea, Pierce," Tristan replied firmly.

"Why? Afraid I'll win again?" Pierce taunted.

That got Tristan to stop in his tracks and give Pierce a cold stare. That was another thing that happened between Pierce and him – a healthy rivalry… _most days._ Since Sloane was a sculptor, he worked in a different medium than Pierce and Tristan, and it was probably for the better. On the other hand, they both worked on sketches, drawings, and paintings – all the same mediums; it was hard to not compare them and their talents.

Over the years, they'd fought over restorations that museums had requested the Guild to perform, each claiming that they could do the job better, and over reproductions as well, to the point where they had begun to each send their own version of the masterpiece to see which one the museum liked better. When that got to be too time consuming and petty, because naturally, whosever's version got picked held it over the other's head for months, Morgan finally stepped in and began making the decision as to who would handle each request. It had cut down on _most_ of the arguments, but their competitiveness is what had made them so successful in their respective industries, and was so deeply engrained in their personalities that it was impossible to extricate it from their artistic work.

"What happens to the artwork?"

A slow smile spread over Pierce's face, knowing that he'd won the argument. "Nothing, it's still yours to keep or to donate or whatever you want."

"I'm only agreeing to this because I know I will win," Tristan clarified.

Pierce let out a bark of laughter.

"Well, I've already signed us up so there's no backing out. I should point out thought that that's what you said the last time, and we all know how that turned out," he then responded, with a wink.

 _Fucker._

The last time they had both submitted paintings to a museum, the museum had picked Pierce's work. Although, Tristan knew there was a reason it had ended up that way.

"Yes, and we all know why she chose yours," Tristan replied, sarcastically, "it's a little sad that you were so sure that you would lose that you needed to sleep with the curator in order to secure your win. Don't worry, there's no doubt that I'll win this one. Unless you decide to sleep with Bernie, that is…"

Tristan watched with pleasure as the black depths of Pierce's eyes flared in rage at his insinuation that he would sleep with Bernard Park, the curator of the Met, to win this competition too. Pierce could be so easily provoked; it was almost too easy to be fun.

"I think I'll just submit the portrait I did of my mom; if that doesn't show true love, I don't know what does. Plus, you wouldn't know love if it came up and punched you in the face," Tristan concluded with a laugh.

After a moment, he stopped, wondering if he had gone a little too far. Pierce still hadn't replied and it looked like Tristan was the one who was about to be punched in the face.

"We'll see," Pierce finally said, his voice clipped and harsh, as he turned and stalked away.

Tristan just stood there for a moment, watching him go.

 _This was not a good idea._

He wasn't as bad as Pierce when it came to letting his emotions get the best of him, but he was still far too easily susceptible to them. Pierce didn't care about winning, Tristan knew that, all he cared about was the thrill, the competition, outsmarting the other person. Tristan, on the other hand, cared about winning, about being the best, and Pierce knew just what to say to get Tristan to play right into his hand.

At this point, he wasn't concerned about the competition; he was more concerned about the white-hot rage that had flared in Pierce's eyes when Tristan called him out for rigging the competition in his favor, and then proceeded to tell him that he had no knowledge of what love was. It was a low blow; he'd been annoyed at himself for giving in to Pierce's game and had wanted to just poke him in the eye a little bit for playing the competition card, but he might have poked just a little too hard.

Tristan began to move through the crowd to find Piece and offer an apology. He was concerned that Pierce was going to take that rage and do something stupid to level the playing field; that's what Pierce did, he acted on emotion with no forethought and rarely any regret. Most of the time, what he did was essentially harmless but, with that edge, you just never knew.

He shouldn't have told him about his mother's portrait; he'd given Pierce the upper hand with that information. Tristan's mother, Viola Black had died ten years ago from leukemia. Not long before she passed away, just before she'd gone into the hospital for the last time, she'd asked Tristan to draw her – at home and happy, just how she had wanted him to remember her. She'd told him that when he looked at it, to remember just how much love she had for and wanted to give him.

He hadn't had much formal training at that point, but even to this day, he was pleased with how well his younger self had done. For several years after her death, he couldn't bring himself to pull the portrait out; it was too painful because she'd been his biggest supporter in everything that he had done. Finally, a few years ago, he'd managed to open the drawing and hang it in his studio. Looking at it, it hadn't felt complete, but he hadn't been able to bring himself to alter it until this year. This year, he'd fine-tuned the drawing, adding in all the finishing touches to make his mother's memory complete. It had been truly a work of love and that is why he had no doubt it would win a competition focused on the art of portraying love.

Pierce had never, to his knowledge, created anything of that caliber, anything that personal. He was a player is every sense of the word. The excitement, the competition, that's what held his interest. They all had gone through things in their respective pasts that shaped them, but Pierce, well, he had just gone through a little more than most and it made him come off as callous. Deep down, Tristan believed that he cared, just about very few people, and it took a long time for him to let you in that deeply.

Which is why what he had said struck a nerve with Pierce, not that Pierce wouldn't forgive him, but there was definitely going to be some sort of retribution involved, first.

He scanned the crowd again, but Pierce was nowhere to be seen. Finally, he spotted Sloane standing off to the side of the room, watching the announcer make his way up to the podium to begin the auction. That was typical Sloane, always off to the side, in the background, never wanting to draw attention.

Of the three of them, Tristan and Pierce definitely had the most striking features – light and dark. Sloane, on the other hand, was neither; his hair was wavy and a nondescript light brown. He kept it longer than theirs, to the point where he needed to pull it back when he was working. Without Tristan and Pierce to be compared to, he was very good-looking; when they were around, he tended to fade into the background, although that could have been on purpose. The only thing striking about him was his eyes; they were the clearest, most brilliant blue you'd ever see.

 _"Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you so much for coming tonight. On behalf of the Gentlemen's Guild, I'd like to welcome you…"_

Tristan ignored the auctioneer's booming voice, making his way swiftly over to Sloane.

"Have you seen Pierce?" Tristan leaned in and said into Sloane's ear so that he could hear him.

"Earlier, why? Did he talk to you about the competition?"

"Yes. I'm surprised you agreed to do it before talking to me," Tristan responded.

Sloane's crystal blue eyes widened for a moment before he let out a laugh.

"You should know better than to believe everything that Pierce says," he responded wryly, "I told him I would do whatever you two decide."

"That fucker," Tristan spat, not truly angry; it was his own fault for believing him.

 _"The first piece that we have for auction tonight is by Mr. Titian, from the Guild…"_

Tristan looked up at the mention of his pseudonym just as the auctioneer paused, looking momentarily flustered as the audience watched Morgan come up behind him and hand him a piece of paper.

Tristan and Sloane shot each other confused expressions. Looking back to the podium, Tristan saw Pierce standing well-hidden, off to the side of the stage, a satisfied smile on his face; and that's when Tristan realized that Pierce's revenge was beginning to unfold before he could do anything to stop it.

 _"Sorry, everyone, just making sure I have all of the correct information here. As I was saying. Mr. Titian's piece for auction this evening, is something very dear to him…"_

Tristan began to shove his way through the crowd, even though there was no way he would make it over there in time to have Morgan stop the announcer. His heart was pounding, rage at his friend making his vision blur.

 _"This piece is entitled 'Mother,' we will start the bidding at two million, going once…"_

Tristan's hands fisted.

 _He was going to kill Pierce for this._


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The sound of the mallet cracking down halted him dead in his tracks. It was over. Just like when he had lost her the first time, the feeling of helplessness began to suffocate him. The drawing wasn't the only thing that he had of her, but it was certainly the most valuable, the most meaningful to him, and out of anger and spite, Pierce had switched it in for the piece that was _supposed_ to be auctioned off today. All to level the playing field.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and he quickly spun around coming to face Sloane.

"What happened?"

"Pierce happened. That sonofabitch switched my mother's portrait in for the piece I wanted to be auctioned today," Tristan spat, his jaw clenching forcefully.

"Why would he do that?"

"Because I told him that I was going to submit it to this stupid fucking competition that he wants to do and I told him that, with it, there was no way I could lose."

"So, he did this just to win?"

"I also might have told him that he could never win because he has no idea what love is…" Tristan trailed off, frustrated at having to admit his role in what had just transpired.

"Shit…" Sloane responded, "let me talk to him."

"Yeah, whatever. I don't even give a damn about him now, I need to find Morgan, find out who the fuck won my drawing, and tell him that there's been a mistake."

"I'm sure whoever won it will be fine taking the other piece," Sloane tried to calmly reassure him.

Tristan just acknowledged his friend with a barely perceptible nod before turning and stalking towards Morgan who was standing off behind the stage.

"Woah, buddy, what happened?" Morgan asked as Tristan approached him, seeing the anger written all over his face.

"Who won the drawing of my mom?" Tristan demanded, not even bothering to answer Morgan's question.

"Ahh, shit. I should have known Pierce was up to no good. _Dammit_ ," Morgan replied in frustration, "I don't know why I trust that guy sometimes."

"Because he's a friend, that's why; he might be a terrible one at the moment, but it's who he is. I just need you to point me in the direction of the guy who purchased my drawing."

Even though Tristan was pissed off as fuck at Pierce, he knew that Pierce had only done this in a darkly entertaining form of retaliation, under the complete assumption that whomever won the piece would be more than understanding enough to switch it with the one that was supposed to be auctioned.

"Yeah, of course. Do you want me to talk to him? Seemed like a nice enough guy, I can explain that there was a mistake," Morgan kindly offered.

"No. In the off-chance that he decides to be a pain in the ass, I want him to know who I am, and why it's important to me," Tristan answered impatiently.

"Alright, well his name is Jack Carter and, let's see…" Morgan trailed off as he scanned the crowd just in front of the stage to try and spot their target. "Alright, there he is," Morgan nodded towards an older gentleman, garbed in a very expensive suit watching the auctioneer finish up the bidding on the last piece.

"Thanks." Tristan barely got the word out before he was off again towards the man who had just mistakenly won one of the most important things in his life.

Tristan took a good look at the man who was now the proud owner of his mom's portrait. _Jack Carter._ This better be as easy to get back as Pierce was expecting it to be, otherwise he really might have to murder the bastard.

"Excuse me, sir, are you Mr. Carter?" Tristan addressed the older gentleman cordially, with his most people-pleasing smile.

"Yes, yes I am. Who is asking?" the gentleman responded, his eyebrows raising in question.

"I'm with the Gentleman's Guild, if I could speak to you in private for a moment about the painting that you have just won," Tristan explained as he motioned towards the gallery exit, for where this conversation could take place.

Mr. Carter nodded, looking intrigued, yet pleased to be speaking with someone from the Guild; he followed Tristan through the crowd and out of the gallery where they could speak privately.

"Mr. Carter, I apologize for any inconvenience, but it seems that there's been a misunderstanding about the drawing that you just won," Tristan began his explanation, watching the other man's face alight with surprise, "In fact, that piece was not the one that was supposed to be up for auction tonight. There was a miscommunication and there is actually another drawing should have been auctioned in its place."

"I see…" Mr. Carter responded, waiting for Tristan to continue.

"If you would like, I can escort you to the back and show you the other piece that you have won," Tristan offered.

"I see, except I like the drawing that I won; it's the one that I bid on and I'm not willing to exchange it. I'm sorry about the mishap, but I don't quite see how it's my problem."

 _You fucker._

Of course, he wasn't going to make this easy. Fine, Tristan thought, at this point he didn't care what it took, he was going to get that drawing back.

"I understand. I'm willing to return your money to you, so that you can take home the intended piece at no cost to yourself."

 _Money always worked._

"Who are you? I'm sorry, I only know Morgan. Do you even have the authority to offer something like that?" Mr. Carter responded, suddenly concerned that someone was trying to swindle him.

"Believe me, sir, I have every authority," Tristian said firmly, his facial expression leaving no doubt as to his ability to make this decision.

"I'm sorry, it's not about the money though. I want this drawing," Mr. Carter insisted.

"I see," Tristan replied, coldly.

 _Looks like we will have to move on to Plan B._

"Well, I'm going to have to talk to the auction company then and see what can be done because unfortunately, I can't let you leave with that drawing," Tristan continued, coldly, giving the stubborn man a curt nod before turning back towards the gallery.

"Young man…" Mr. Carter called after him, "one moment."

Tristan didn't even bother to respond to him, he just turned and raised an eyebrow, waiting for whatever Jack Carter was about to say next.

"I would be willing to consider giving back the drawing," he began.

"What do you want?" Tristan interjected, knowing where this conversation was headed.

"I would be willing to consider it, if I could speak to the artist who drew it for a moment."

Tristan was taken aback for a moment; he was expecting a request for money or for some sort of compensation. Not that this was any better; _no one_ knew their identities, especially not their patrons.

 _God, and of course he'd just been scolding Pierce about this, and now, here he was, the one thinking about breaking the Guild's cardinal rule of secrecy. Then again, what choice did he have? He needed to get this drawing back and if that meant revealing who he was to some fan who would do God-knows-what with the information, then that is what he would do._

"Fine," Tristan clipped out.

"Wonderful!" the man exclaimed, his whole demeanor changing. "When can I meet him?"

"Right now," Tristan answered, running his fingers through his hair, completely destroying its styled appearance.

"I don't understand," the man replied, perplexed, looking around the hall.

"Mr. Carter," Tristan began, his voice as cold as ice, "My name is Tristan Black, or as some in this circle prefer to call me, Titian. I am the one who created the drawing that you won and I am the one asking for it back."

Jack Carter just stared at him for a moment, in complete shock at that turn of events.

"Mr. Black… Titian… it's a great pleasure to meet you," he finally responded, extending his hand in greeting. "This piece… it's not typical of what I've seen of your work in the past few years, but as soon as I saw it tonight… it's just so moving. The love and happiness that you've managed to capture and portray is just astounding. Truly moving."

Tristan refused to take his hand or acknowledge the praise of his work. Even though he was the one asking for something, he'd already gone above and beyond all of the rules that were carefully crafted and put into place, all at this man's request; he would do no more.

"I apologize. Thank you for revealing yourself to speak to me. I was hoping that by purchasing this drawing, that I would have some opportunity at some point to make the request to speak to the artist, I just didn't expect that it would happen so soon or in this manner. I've never bid on one before so I wasn't sure what to expect."

"Mr. Carter, I don't mean to be rude, so let me explain something to you. That drawing that you have, is of my late mother. _I need it back._ "

"Oh, dear. I'm so sorry about that. Well…ahh… the reason that I wanted to speak with you is because I have a request," the old man forged on.

"I'm going to have to stop you right there. In seven years, I've never revealed who I am to any patron, so I hope you appreciate the confidence that I've just given you in order to get my mother's portrait returned to me. I have broken our code of secrecy, but I will do no more. The Guild has not, nor will it ever take individual requests for work. We have a mission, a purpose, and that is not a part of it."

"I see, of course. I completely understand, but if you would just hear me out –"

"No, I've heard enough," Tristan responded harshly, the enormity of his recent actions really starting to sink in and the resulting anger seeping out of him, "you said that if I agreed to speak with you, you would return my drawing. I have done so. Now, it's your turn to hold up your end of the bargain."

"I see," Mr. Carter responded, his expression becoming shuttered, "I see that you will not listen to reason, which means that I'm left with no choice. I said that if you agreed to speak with me, that I might consider returning the drawing. I did not guarantee its return."

"Are you fucking serious right now? I'll just go in there and have the auction company get my drawing back and return your money. Hell, I'll sue you for it if it comes to that," Tristan spat, vengefully.

"Or, you could do a portrait of my daughter for me and I will return your drawing with no issue upon receipt of it," Mr. Carter quickly finished before Tristan walked away to make good on his threat.

Tristan stared at the man standing in front of him. For the first time in seven years, he not only revealed his identity to a patron, but was now actually considering create a piece of artwork on request.

 _What in the royal fuck was happening today?_

He ran his hand through his hair again, angry and frustrated, stuck between a bad and an even worse decision. If he refused, who knows how hard it would be to get his drawing back, or how long it might take, especially if lawyers were to get involved. If he accepted, he would be going back on the promise that he had made to himself and the Guild to abide by the set of rules that they had set out at the start.

 _It's not like he's paying you for the piece, so it's not like you are profiting._

It was still a request.

 _This is the portrait of your mother; sometimes, exceptions to the rule must be made, even if it is just this once._

Before he could think the better of it, Tristan extended his hand.

"Fine," he all but spat, "I'll draw your daughter, but I will have your word that upon completion of her portrait, you will return that of my mother."

"You have my word," the older man said, taking Tristan's hand firmly to seal their agreement.

"She can't know who I am," Tristan continued, the potential repercussions of his choice now starting to become clear.

 _His secrets couldn't spread any farther after this moment._

"Of course," Jack agreed, "in return, I ask that you do not tell her what I've done to acquire her portrait."

Tristan stared back, his curiosity only slightly peaked about why Jack would want to keep something like that from his daughter, but it wasn't any of his business, and he was already far more involved than was a good idea.

"What is her name?"

"Elsa," he responded, "do you need her information? How will you contact her?"

With a sharp stare, Tristan pulled out a pen from inside his tux, motioning for Jack to give him his auction handout. He scribbled on the paper a date, time, and address.

"I won't be contacting her," he began bluntly, "have her be there for the audition." Handing him back the information, Tristan didn't bother to wait for a response, before he turned and stalked back into the gallery to find the devious asshole who had gotten him into this mess.

Even though most of the crowd had cleared out, Pierce was nowhere to be seen in the giant hall.

 _That motherfucker._

Even though Tristan knew that this whole ordeal was Pierce's idea of an entertaining revenge for what he had said earlier, as well as an attempt to level the playing field for this competition that he desperately wanted to win, he still couldn't believe that Pierce had done this.

 _God, what had Pierce been thinking? What had he been thinking?_

It was his own damn fault for agreeing to the stupid competition – agreeing and then, out of frustration with his own weakness, upping the ante by mocking his friend. After a decade of being friends with the man, he should have known better not to provoke him. Pierce couldn't have known that Jack Carter wouldn't return the painting; he couldn't have known that Jack was only there to try to find an 'in' with the Guild, to personally request a portrait. He couldn't blame Pierce for that, no matter how much his anger wanted him to at the moment.

Although, if Pierce did this to make sure that he wouldn't submit his mom's portrait to the competition, then he would have had to have known that Jack wasn't going to give the drawing back, right? Tristan pinched his temples; trying to get inside Pierce's head was an impossibility. You never knew what Pierce knew and what he didn't, whether it was all part of his plan or it just magically worked out in his favor; that was the entire reason that Pierce enjoyed life, to keep those around him on edge, always guessing about him.

 _Either way, he was going to lay into the bastard, that was for damn sure – if he could just find him._

"Did you get it back?" Tristan turned, hearing Sloane's voice approaching from behind him.

"No," he responded, his eyes shadowing, "but I will. Where's Pierce?"

"I think he left already, something about a hot date…"

"Dammit," Tristan spat, pulling out his cell phone to dial Pierce's number.

"Also, you should know that Pierce had Bernard come up at the end of the auction and announce that the Guild would be participating in the Met competition next month."

"Of course he did," Tristan responded sarcastically.

Not that he had even thought about pulling out from the competition, especially now; there was no way he was going to let Pierce win this, after everything he had just put him through.

Dialing Pierce's number, Tristan gave Sloane a nod before walking out of the gallery again, towards the museum exit; this wasn't a conversation he wanted to have anywhere near a group of people.

"Well, if it isn't Mr. Confidence," Pierce answered the phone smugly, "how are you feeling about winning that competition now?"

"What the fuck is the matter with you?" Tristan responded, his voice eerily calm.

"What! Just a little fun; couldn't have you getting too sure of yourself," Pierce paused to laugh, "he seemed like a nice enough guy, the one who won your mom. I'm sure he'll give her back to you if you ask nicely."

"He wasn't willing to exchange or give the drawing back, yet," Tristan bluntly informed him.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that Jack Carter still has my mother's portrait and if I'm unable to get it back from him, I swear to God, you will regret the day that you met me," Tristan threatened darkly before hanging up the phone.

 _Let him stew over that for a little while. No need to tell him that I'm already working towards getting the drawing back._

Tristan climbed into the black car waiting to take him back to his One57 condo, dialing Morgan as he shut the door behind him.

"Hey, did you get the drawing back from Carter?" Morgan answered.

"No. I need you to set up an audition for me, Wednesday of this coming week at three," Tristan responded, unwilling to elaborate more on what had just happened in the gallery.

"What do you mean 'no'? What are you going to do? Why do you need another audition?"

"Can you set up the audition or not? I'm handling Carter."

"Yeah, I'll do it. Where do you want to have it?" Morgan gave in, exasperated.

"Same location as last time."

"Don't you think that's a bit risky? Using the Plaza again?"

"I don't care," Tristan responded, knowing that he didn't have a choice.

The meeting room and address that he had given Jack Carter were for the plaza. He didn't want to jeopardize anything by switching the information.

"Alright, if you say so."

"Thanks."

Tristan shoved his phone into his jacket pocket as he got out of the car in front of his apartment building. One57, also known as 'the Billionaire's Building,' stood impressively over one thousand feet tall, overlooking Central Park from West 157th street. Tristan had purchased his penthouse condo back in 2012, for a sum that most would consider staggering; he didn't care. It was a great location and a great space, and therefore, worth the expense.

Unbuttoning his jacket, he brushed passed the doorman with a quick acknowledgement, heading towards the elevator. He was the only person on the ride up to the eighty-fifth floor. As the doors opened, he yanked off his tie, unable to shake the frustration over the situation that he'd managed to get himself into.

 _Seven years…blown in one day._

It wasn't true; nothing was blown, but Tristan had always been the leader; he'd called the shots, proposed the rules, made sure that the other members of the Guild abided by the rules. He was the one in charge and he knew that if the shoe was on the other foot, if Sloane or Pierce had done what he had just done, he would have demanded that they leave the Guild immediately.

 _Hypocrite._

Tristan couldn't distinguish whether it was the word or the door slamming behind him that reverberated through his apartment. The layout was so open that any sound made at one end of the condo would be heard at the other end. The heels of his dress shoes clicked across the dark hardwood floor as he walked past the open-concept living room, with two large modern couches, that then transitioned into the dining room, complete with a table large enough to seat ten guests comfortably. Rounding the corner put him in the fully stocked, modern kitchen, complete with separate wine refrigerator, two wall ovens, and a Viking gas stove. Pulling a bottle of Fiji water from the fridge, Tristan chugged down a good two-thirds of its contents before setting it on the granite countertop. His palms came to rest on the cool stone as he stared out the giant floor-to-ceiling windows that covered the outer walls of the entire apartment, offering him a complete, unobstructed view of Central Park and the city.

Smacking his right hand down on the counter, he let out a yell of frustration. Stalking out of the kitchen, through the dining room, and down the hall into the master bedroom, he began stripping out of his jacket and shirt, taking them off and tossing them onto the bench at the end of his bed, as if they hadn't cost him what most people would consider a small fortune. Unbuttoning his pants, he let them fall to the ground – _they needed to be dry cleaned anyway._ Stepping out of them and walking into the bathroom, he turned the shower on hot, needing something to relax and clear his head.

Looking out the window above the countertop in the bathroom, he stared out at the setting sun, his brow furrowing ominously as he contemplated how to handle this entire situation without it coming back to haunt him. When he felt the room begin to steam, he climbed into the scalding water, letting it burn through him, just as the anger did coursing through his veins.

 _Sloane and Pierce could never know about what he agreed to do. He knew that much. Sloane, well, he wasn't as much of a concern, but Pierce, that fucker would never let this go. Not only would he never hear the end of it, but then there would be nothing to stop Pierce from taking whatever liberties he wanted with the Guild's popularity – not that he didn't try to do that already but when it came right down to it, always respected my strict adherence to the code that we had all agree upon. A code that he, the beacon of conformity, had just undermined._

 _He was going to get his mother's portrait back, and he was going to win the competition in spite of what Pierce had done; that would be enough retribution, on Pierce at least._

 _Jack Carter, on the other hand, was a completely different story._

 _What kind of person would refuse to give back such a sentimental piece that was acquired by accident? That was strike one. Then, after asking to meet the artist, insinuating that he would agree to exchange the portrait, and subsequently refusing to when he'd introduced himself, that was strike two._

 _He didn't give a shit what words the man had actually used. The fact was that how Carter said what he did, sent a clear message that if he could meet the artist, meet Titian, he would return the drawing. And then he didn't, and that was unacceptable._

Each member of the Guild each had their own process when it came to producing pieces for their exhibits. They never went into much detail with each other, but the rumors weren't completely baseless. They all formed physical relationships with the models that they chose, in order to capture and portray that depth of emotion that made their work so entrancing and unique. Not that they forced anyone; well, at least he hadn't, he couldn't speak for Pierce. The models always had a choice to leave, not that they ever did, but they could have, and he would have just picked someone else; if you knew of the Guild's work, you knew what you were signing up for as one of their models.

Although, after the first few years of the rumors and hype, the newer fans of their works seemed to be slightly unaware of what was probably involved in their artistic process. Tristan was pretty certain that Jack Carter would have _never_ requested a portrait of his daughter if he knew what delivering on that request might entail.

The hot shower helped to remove some stress from his toned and muscular form, but it was the promise of vengeful satisfaction that would be his, that brought comfort to his tormented mind.

 _True, he could just draw the girl and be done with it, get his mother's portrait back, but the status quo was no longer acceptable. Jack Carter had essentially blackmailed him into going against everything that he stood for, into doing something that he had expressly agreed never to do. No one forced his hand like that without consequences._

 _Oh, and there would be consequences._


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Tristan tapped his pen impatiently on the table in front of him, just wanting to get this fucking ordeal over with. Treating this like any other project was a genius stroke on his part. He'd originally done it because he didn't know how else to approach it, but now, thinking about it, it made the most sense. By having an audition, even though the model to be chosen was pre-determined, threw off any suspicion from Sloane or Pierce; _ok, mostly from Pierce._ To explain to her who he was, what had happened with her father, and why he needed to draw her would have required too many answers that he was unwilling to give, not to mention, he'd assured Carter that he wouldn't. Even though the man had seemed spineless, he'd blackmailed Tristan and Tristan wasn't going to put it past him to do something to his mother's portrait if he went back on his word.

No, the best way to have this girl, Elsa, sit for him was to treat this like any other piece that he was beginning; the less she would know, the less she would question. As much as he would have revenge on her father for his obstinate behavior, he couldn't risk endangering the Guild any further, and on top of it all, it put him in the mindset that she was just like all the others; and she would fall just like all the others.

"Alright, they are all here," Morgan said, pulling Tristan from his thoughts to the present.

"Fan-fucking-tastic. Let's get this show started," Tristan said as he tossed his pen on the table and leaned back nonchalantly in his chair, arms crossed over his chest.

"Alright," Morgan agreed, setting down the small stack of headshots on the table in front of Tristan.

Tristan made no move to look at the photos on the table. No, he wanted to see if he could guess which woman he was being forced to portray. God, with his luck this past week, Carter's daughter was probably in her forties and had inherited his large nose. Realizing that Morgan was waiting for him to review the photos, Tristan shot him a look that said to just bring them in, he wasn't bothering with the photos today. Reading the message loud and clear, Morgan walked to the door of the ballet studio that they'd rented for the afternoon and ushered in the line of ten models.

Tristan knew from the second the women walked into the room, which would be good candidates and which wouldn't if this were a typical audition. Not based on their looks, but the air, the attitude that they carried with them. The first three, a blond and two brunettes, all stunning, walked into the room like they owned it; they knew how good they looked and they had no doubt that they would be the one chosen. Tristan never picked those because they didn't mind being used. Like him, they would attach no emotion to whatever else happened during the creation process, and that would be devastating to the result that he typically tried to achieve.

The next three, all blondes, were almost at the other end of the spectrum. They knew they were beautiful, but their dress and demeanor was reserved; they were here for the job, but would treat it as exactly that, they wouldn't be open to any extra activities that might be involved. Tristan's observation was confirmed when he noticed rings on the left hands of two of those models. _Married and off-limits._ If he was willing to bet money, it would be that the third, non-married, woman was Jack Carter's daughter. Her hair color and the shape of her eyes vaguely reminded him of Jack; his jaw clenched as he recalled the reason he was doing all of this, and he must have sent a menacing stare, because the third woman's eyes widened in question, her body moving back slightly in fear.

The next two were ideal candidates – nervous, yet eager. Beautiful, yet not so self-absorbed that they would consider using their looks however necessary to advance their career, like the first three models would. Maybe he would even keep one of them on file for his next actual exhibit piece and save himself the trouble of going through the audition process again. The one model, with jet black hair, was particularly enticing; he scanned the length of her, his eyes returning to capture her anxiously willing gaze.

Just as Tristan began to send her a sultry and seductive smile, a crash off to the right startled him, as the last model in line seemed to have dropped the clipboard that held the information and questionnaire that all the models were required to fill out. For a second, Tristan couldn't really see her; she had turned around and knelt down to gather the board and papers scattered on the floor behind her. He watched intently, only semi-observant of a few of the models who had begun to snicker at her clumsiness.

She wasn't dressed like the rest of them; she had on jeans and a blazer that were fitted onto her toned form, as far as he could tell, and she was wearing a hat, underneath which seemed to be tucked all of her hair. She awkwardly stood back up and turned to face him again, her vibrant green eyes catching his.

Tristan felt the air being pulled completely out of his lungs. _She was exquisite._ He couldn't even see all of her face or her hair because it was hidden by her hat, but the way she looked at him made his heart stop. He couldn't help but stare, and soak in every detail about her.

She wasn't as tall as the rest of them, but then again, she hadn't worn heels to the audition like them either. While the rest of the models seemed to be either quite voluptuous or the typical runway tall-and-skinny, this woman was the only one who seemed to fall right in the middle. She had on a white t-shirt underneath her blazer, both of which partially obscured the shape of her torso from his assessment. She fidgeted when his gaze slowly returned up her body to capture hers.

"Oh, shoot, I'm so sorry," she mumbled as she quickly reached up and pulled off her hat, having forgotten that it was even on.

She must have assumed that's why he was staring at her, because he was waiting for her hat to come off.

If he had known what it would reveal, he would have asked her to give him a moment to recover his breath, but he was afforded no such luxury. He watched in torture as the removal of her hat let her warm, messy, red waves fall, cascading down her shoulders and back. Now, not only did it feel like the wind had been knocked out of him, but like someone had kicked him when he was down.

 _God, he hoped Morgan didn't realize what was going on, or that he probably needed to call an ambulance; his brain couldn't even register if he was remembering to breathe._

He should have suspected about the hair. Her skin was so fair and her face was sprinkled with freckles. Her vibrant hair set his desire for her on fire. She would be incredible to capture. He could barely read her demeanor; he was so distracted by how exquisite and unique her beauty was. She hadn't put on any make-up, like the rest of them. She hadn't worn something slinky and provocative, like the first few. She was nervous, that was obvious when she dropped her clipboard and even now as she bit her lip, still uncomfortable under his stare; he knew he could break through that though.

 _He knew he would enjoy breaking through that._

 _Fuck._

He was here for a reason, and the reason wasn't his choice, wasn't up to him.

 _He would still use her though, for his next project, he had no doubt. Once he got his mother's portrait taken care of, she would be his._

Breaking his gaze from her, he looked down at the photos in front of them, shuffling them for a moment to compose himself and get on with this farce. He looked up again, unable to control his eyes and stop them from going back to the siren on the end.

"What's your name?" he asked her pointedly, before he could stop himself.

"Ellie," she replied softly, her words registering in slow motion as he found himself enthralled by the movement of her mouth.

"Ellie…" he repeated slowly.

In retrospect, he could see that how he repeated her name made it sound like a question, as though he didn't recognize it or why she was here, instead of the statement of awe that it was, which explained her subsequent response.

"I'm so sorry; It's Elsa. My name is Elsa Carter," she nervously elaborated, "but you can call me Ellie."

And just like that, the giant bucket of reality dumped ice water over every thought that had just run through his mind. For a split second, his mind went blank with rage, for the second time this week; Jack Carter had screwed him once, and now again, the man had managed to fuck with his mind. The beautiful, albeit slightly awkward and clumsy, woman standing in front of him was mesmerizing. Everything about her had ensnared him from the second he saw her, and now, again, the joke was on him. This stunning siren was Jack's daughter; she was the reason he wasn't in possession of his mother's portrait, even if it was all Jack's doing, she was going to pay.

"Elsa Carter," he drawled out slowing, testing her name on his lips, "it's a pleasure to meet you."

The smile that he sent her was enticing, and alluring, but if she had looked closely, if she had known what to look for, she would have seen the danger hiding behind the friendly face.

"It's a pleasure to meet you too, Mr. ahh... Shoot. I'm sorry, I don't know who you are," she rambled on, her face flushing as her mouth clearly worked faster than her brain thought.

Tristan couldn't help the chuckle that escaped him at her awkwardness, kicking himself for how easily she was able to get underneath his skin without even trying.

 _No, this was unacceptable._

She was dangerous – not that he could imagine it based on her demeanor these past two minutes, but then again, he would never have expected a man of Jack Carter's stature and personality to blackmail him either. No, no one in this family could be trusted, that was for damn sure. Who knows what their plan was? Maybe it was to blackmail him even further now that they, or at least Jack, knew his identity? For what, he couldn't fathom… more pieces? Money? Fame? It didn't matter; he needed to be on his game, he couldn't afford to be distracted by this woman no matter how much he wanted to be.

Acknowledging that want had him shifting in his seat, trying to adjust the uncomfortable bulge that was thankfully, masked by his heavy jeans.

 _Dammit, Tristan, you're a fucking pro at this, so start acting like it._

His lips thinning into a hard line, his eyes narrowed on string of women in front of him as he stood up, relieving the pressure on his annoyingly physical response to _her._ Walking over to the beginning of the line, he stood directly in front of the first blond who had entered the room, looking her up and down. Normally, he would be assessing the models to see if they were the right fit for his piece and to see their response to being in such close proximity with him, except this time, it was just for show. He eyed the voluptuous blond, who not only enjoyed the attention, but craved it, her breathing becoming deep to accentuate the rise and fall of her chest. Normally, he would have been paying attention, if for no other reason than to be amused by the blatant attempt to seduce him into choosing her; this time, he couldn't help but find the woman tacky, while the only thing that he could focus on was in the periphery of his vision, watching Ellie's reaction to every move that he made.

He could see that she had stepped out a little farther from the line to see what he was doing, unconcerned with acknowledging his interest in the other models. In comparison, the two brunettes next to the blond number one, just stared straight ahead at Morgan, intentionally ignoring the attention he was giving to the first model. Moving down the line, those same two brunettes responded in the exact same way to him – by subtly trying to emphasize their physical attributes, or catching his eyes with a look that said they were eager to give him more.

So far, Ellie had done nothing but watch, she'd given no hint that she was as affected by him as he was by her, and that pissed him off. The third woman in line, one of the brunettes, was particularly suggestive with her body language, so Tristan decided to take his assessment a little farther to see if he could get some reaction out of the siren. His hands came up to thread his fingers through the model's hair. For a moment, even she seemed surprised by his action, but she transitioned quickly into an eager player. She licked her lips, giving him a sultry smile before letting her head fall back against the slight pressure of his hands; she played the part perfectly for what he'd wanted to see. She looked enraptured by his touch, and he began to lean in close. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ellie's jaw drop slightly, her mouth parting slightly and eyes widening.

 _God, he wanted nothing more than to kiss that innocent look of surprise off of her face._

Ellie's tongue darted out to lick her lower lip before pulling it in to bite on lower lip anxiously. The unconscious movement making his erection painfully hard against the firm denim of his Rag & Bone jeans. Tristan had to bite his own lip from groaning out loud.

 _What_ _he wouldn't give to taste her, to pull that softly plump lower lip into his own mouth._

 _Shit,_ he was such a moron. The shot of anger that ran through him at his apparent lack of control pushed him farther than he would have normally gone in an audition. He closed the space between his face, and that of the model, whose head he was still holding. Leaning in, he was about to let his lips graze the model's jawline, when a split second before he kissed her, the damn siren dropped her clipboard. Again.

The noise and her embarrassment shattered the moment. Tristan immediately stepped back from the woman in front of him and watched with pleasure as Ellie chaotically tried to gather everything back up from the floor; finally standing, to reveal that her face had turned beet red with mortification.

 _Now, that was what he was looking for._

He had craved her reaction to him; he had craved to unnerve her like she had unknowingly done to him. A brief glance at the model who he'd just been entangled with, showed a smug smile spread over her face, not too much bigger than the smiles on the rest of the women in line, confidently believing that there was one less person that they had to worry about losing this gig to.

With a smile on his face, he walked down to the end of the line, past all the other models, to stand right in front of Elsa.

 _That was his first mistake._

Being so close to her only made her effect on him even worse. The subtle smell of warm vanilla permeated his nostrils, intensifying his arousal.

 _God, she smelled delectably sweet._

His gaze captured her vibrant green eyes, and he knew that his desire was etched across his features; he was surprised when she didn't back away; for some reason, he had expected her too. But no, she stood her ground and stared back, even though color flooded her cheeks again, she didn't drop his gaze. Her lips parted again and Tristan's fist clenched as it took every fiber of his being not to lean down and take her mouth, wondering if it would taste as warm and sweet as she smelled.

 _She was too much, he needed to distance himself before he lost all control._

He just wanted a little more, to be a little closer. Holding her gaze, he leaned in ever so slowly so that he didn't startle her, leaned in next to her ear, feeling the heat or desire and anticipation radiate off of her, unsure of what he was going to do next.

"My name is Tristan Black, but don't worry, Miss Carter, you're going to get to know me very well," he whispered huskily into her ear.

Moving his face away from hers, he stepped back, looking down the line.

"Thank you for coming, ladies. That will be all," he said unemotionally, watching the looks of shock and horror cross over their faces, realizing that they had lost the audition to the awkward and clumsy redhead.

The redhead who didn't even realize that his statement implied that she was to stay. Ellie ducked her head and had barely turned to move towards the door, when Tristan reached out with a vise-like grip on her wrist.

 _Another mistake._

The softness of her skin underneath the few fingertips that managed to reach underneath her blazer, burned him. She was on fire; or maybe he was. Her breath caught at the first touch of his hand, her face jerking back to face him. Quickly dropping her arm before he really did something that he couldn't control or would regret, he let his gaze sear into her, making what he said next very clear.

"Not you," Tristan said, his voice silky smooth, demanding her presence.

The reserved half of the group walked out in disappointment, the rest, especially the one brunette who had good cause to believe she might be chosen, stalked out of the room, giving him the evil eye as they went. The first blond even had the nerve to wink at Morgan sitting back behind the table, with the hope that maybe he might be able to do something for her – _or that she might be able to do something for him._ Finally, it was just Ellie and he left standing, while Morgan watched the whole scene play out in front of him with intense interest.

"Wonderful," Tristan said, breaking the silence, taking Ellie's clipboard from her and strolling back over to the table where Morgan sat.

He made brief eye contact with Morgan as he sat the clipboard down in front of him, choosing to ignore the perplexed and questioning look that Morgan returned. What had just happened, wasn't typical for Tristan; Pierce, maybe, but not Tristan. Usually, he just sat behind the table and watched Pierce make all the models either excited or uncomfortable with his blatantly sexual overtures. Tristan usually kept his distance during the audition, and he definitely didn't this time, and he was sure that Morgan was going to ask him about it.

"Miss Carter," he began, turning back to his siren.

 _She's not yours. Yet._

The thought brought a devious smile to his face as he walked back over to her.

"We'll continue the process tomorrow. Come to one fifty-seven west fifty-seventh street tomorrow at noon," he instructed, keeping some distance from her, and ignoring the cough that came from behind him, from Morgan.

He was already going to be in pain for the rest of the afternoon; he'd already let himself be taken unawares by her. He needed some space.

"Oh, ok. Of course," she stuttered, "is that it? For today? I mean, do you have any questions for me? Do I need to fill anything out? Well, I mean, I know I filled out those other forms, but… I'm sorry, I'm rambling."

She stopped and laughed at herself. Tristan wanted nothing more than to be able to silence her with a kiss.

 _Soon._

"That's it for today, Miss Carter," he clarified, "I will see you tomorrow."

"Of course, thank you so much," she said, gracing him with a gorgeous smile that lit up her emerald eyes, "oh, you can call me Ellie. Miss Carter is just… well, just call me Ellie."

Her hand came up to cover her mouth as she realized that she was rambling again. Mumbling a thank you, she turned and walked out of the room and Tristan was pretty sure he heard her stumble as soon as the door shut behind her; he couldn't help himself from laughing.

"What was that all about?" Morgan's voice cut through his thoughts.

 _Morgan was always so damn nosy._

"What do you mean?" Tristan replied, trying to play down his actions.

"All…that…" Morgan responded vaguely, gesticulating with his arms, trying to refer to what had just happened between Tristan and the models.

"It was nothing."

The look Morgan gave him at his answer said that he didn't believe him, and Tristan couldn't afford any questions, or worse, having Morgan tell the rest of the guys how he had just behaved.

"Pierce wasn't here to unnerve them. How can I judge if they are right for the piece if all they do it stand there? I needed to see some sort of reaction from them, and without Pierce, that left me to provoke it," he continued with his explanation, coolly.

"I see," Morgan responded, clearly processing Tristan's response, wondering if it was just a little too believable.

"What?" Tristan pushed back, daring his business partner to question him.

"Nothing," Morgan replied, his hands raising in mock submission before continuing, "so what was up with the girl you picked though? Not usually your style."

Tristan turned away from his friend, his jaw clenching in annoyance at having to explain everything that he had just done.

"I don't know. Figured I'd try something different for this stupid competition that Pierce signed us up for. None of the others intrigued me," he responded casually as he began to gather the minimal things that he had brought with him, including the forms that the models had filled out.

His blood fired up at the thought of just how much she had intrigued him.

"Well, she was certainly different than the rest, that's for sure," Morgan said with a chuckle, "Elsa Carter…any chance she's related to Jack Carter? The man who has your mom's portrait."

 _Fuck._

"I have no idea," Tristan, turned to face Morgan, trying to reply as nonchalantly as possible, "it's a pretty common name. Who knows, maybe she's related to Jay-Z and Beyoncé, too."

Morgan and he locked eyes and stared at each other for a moment, each trying to assess the truth of what the other was thinking; Tristan, daring Morgan to contradict him. A few seconds later, Morgan let his gaze fall with a heavy sigh.

"I hope you know what you are doing."

 _Well, it wasn't like he had much of a choice._

"Winning, that's what I'm going," Tristan responded with a confident smile as he started walking towards the door, "thanks for arranging everything, man. Talk soon."

"Oh hey!" Morgan exclaimed just before Tristan made it safely through the doorway, "did I hear you give her your apartment address?"

 _Fuck._

It wasn't a codified rule, but there was a general assumption throughout the group that models weren't to be taken to their private residences; too many potential problems, too much information to be gleaned, what if they came back after the modeling contract period was up… there was too much that could go wrong, which is why they never did it.

 _Plus, it would have given the women an even greater sense of attachment to them, which was not what they were going for – or, at least he wasn't._

But, this time, he had. He had asked her to come to his apartment, his home, and Morgan had heard.

"I rented space in the Park Hyatt," Tristan replied, thinking quickly on his feet.

The Park Hyatt hotel sat below One57 and basically shared the same address.

"I see," came Morgan's hesitant response.

Tristan waited for another second, to see if Morgan would question him again, before walking out of the door, hoping that with some thought, Morgan would choose to believe him and forget about the whole thing.

Hopping in a cab, Tristan anxiously waited to get back to his place so that he could take a cold shower and punish his body for its traitorous thoughts.


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

 _What had he been thinking?_

He hadn't been thinking and that was the problem. Tristan grunted in frustration and exertion as he did his fiftieth pull-up. She was going to be here in two hours and he was trying to exercise himself into exhaustion so that his body couldn't respond to her even if he wanted to.

 _Ellie. Elsa._

It was almost like two different people. Ellie. Her nickname suited her – it was warm and endearing and just a little quirky; even in the brief moments that he'd been in her presence, he could tell just how well her nickname fit her. Elsa, on the other hand, completely didn't fit with her personality; Elsa was cold, frozen in formality. He'd never thought so hard about a woman's name before, but the dichotomy between the two was so stark.

 _Then again, he'd never thought so hard about a woman in general before, and it was royally pissing him off that he would start with her of all people._

He tried to convince himself all of last night that it was only because he was forced to draw her that he was so ensnared. Ignoring the fact that he hadn't realized who she was until after he had already set his sights on her, and who she was made him even angrier by his reaction. His body was betraying him; he couldn't fall for the daughter of a man blackmailing him, who, herself, could be up to something just as malicious.

He focused on that anger, letting it fuel his workout and his plan for how to handle Ellie. He swore to himself that yesterday was the last time he would let her have so much power over his emotions; from now on this was his show, he was going to treat her just like he did every other woman who modeled for him, and she would play right into his process without even realizing what had happened.

The Guild members each had different methods to achieve their final works; Sloane usually sculpted the model in a way that resulted in a piece portraying modesty and blissful innocence. Pierce portrayed women in the throes of passion, enraptured in desire. And Tristan, well his drawings usually showed a variety of deeper emotions, sometimes it passion, but it was passion combined with a deeper attachment, which was more than Pierce's representation of purely physical lust. Sometimes, it was pain or sadness, the only thing that it had never been was love - which is why the portrait of his mother must have come as a shock to those who had followed his work very closely over the years as a digression from the norm; it was the only thing he'd even made that he felt really showed love. Many looked at the three pieces together almost as a story, showing the progression from innocence into passionate love that finally ends in heartbreak, even though Tristan's works weren't always representing sadness. They never planned it that way, but there was a reason they each focused on the specific emotion that they did; they never brought the reasons up – a kind of 'don't ask, don't tell' policy, leaving each member to handle their emotions as they saw fit.

Sloane's process was a mystery to both him and Pierce. He was always very secretive during the time when he was working; Sloane also found his models separately from the rest of them, no matter how many times they suggested just having one audition for all three of them. Even though Sloane was normally a pushover when it came to most things, in this area, when it came to his work, he was not.

Pierce was on the complete other end of the spectrum. He was the most vocal about his process – and the most ostentatious, because like most things, he just didn't give a shit. Sometimes, he would pick one model, sometimes he would pick more than one and then narrow down once the pieces were completed. Everything about him, his demeanor, his words, everyone who showed up to the auditions knew exactly what additional benefits were included if they chose to model for Pierce; this is why Tristan usually tagged on to his auditions, because it meant less work for him. Pierce would have probably signed any _or all_ of the first three women he'd seen today; Pierce would have taunted them, excited them, he would have made it easy to see which women were more ideal for Tristan to use. It was a symbiotic relationship – Pierce put in the work, and Tristan put up with Pierce and his shenanigans. They even used to share a warehouse studio, but after the second year, Tristan moved out and found his own space; Pierce and his model, or models, were a little too loud and distracting for him to focus.

Tristan fell somewhere in the middle of his two cohorts, usually preferring a more well-rounded approach to get to know his subject. It made sense - in order to achieve that deeper emotion, there had to have been some attachment, some bond, formed between Tristan and the model formed in the first place. So, Tristan got to know the women he drew; he paid attention to them, he took them out places, encouraged them to talk to him, and shared – certain parts – of his life with them. Some had already experienced trauma or heartbreak in their lives, that made his job a little easier, drawing out that emotion to replicate. If that wasn't the case, when they were comfortable with him, he drew their relationship even deeper into the physical realm, giving them intense passion and pleasure, letting that build and capturing that. But, in this case, he was going to take it even a step farther.

He didn't know if Jack had realized just how well Tristan got to know his subjects, but he was going to make absolutely certain that his daughter found out the hard way.

 _He was going to make her fall for him, hard, and then he was going to break her beautiful heart._

The sharp pain in his chest that accompanied that thought he attributed to the intense workout he was having, and all of the stress that he had been under; it was not a twinge of guilt for his plan; it was not a pain in his heart at the thought of hurting hers.

That wasn't to say that in the past he'd never felt bad for breaking hearts, because some women had certainly taken it harder than others, but the contract was very clear; the models were hired to do exactly that: model. If they got caught up in the process, in his process of getting to know them, that was their own fault; he never promised it was more than what it was. Just like how he got about the competition with Pierce, obsessed about winning, it was the same when he worked on a piece for their exhibit. He hated to say that it was a game, but it was a competition to win someone's trust, to win access to their deepest emotions, to win their heart, and it was one that he needed to win; it was what drove him, constantly winning that affection.

He'd never set out with the intent of breaking someone's heart before; sometimes it had happened as a side effect, which is why he tried to pick the models who didn't seem like they would read more into than there was. This time, though, his goal wasn't to win her, it was to watch her lose him.

 _Jack Carter wanted her portrait, well, this was how Tristan operated, and he was going to relish watching at just what cost Ellie Carter was going to have to pay for her father's selfishness._

He had his reasons for getting close to the models, for finding out what made them vulnerable, what made them break down, but he rarely opened that locked door in his mind to revisit them. In this case, his reason was simple: Carter had been deceitful and blackmailed him, using something so important to him against him. Now, Tristan was going to do the same thing; he was going to use Ellie against her father, he was going to break her and made Jack regret ever thinking that he had had the upper hand.

With that ominous thought, Tristan dropped down from the pull-up bar in the gym in his building, grabbed his water bottle, and chugged the remainder of its contents. Picking up a towel, he wiped his forehead and went back upstairs to his condo to change and shower. This was hardly even a business transaction with the blackmail involved and he would be damned if he let it become more than that.

Tossing his gym clothes on the floor, he hopped in the shower to quickly wash off. He only had an hour before Ellie would be here and he needed to prepare himself. He wasn't expecting his reaction to her the last time. He'd never experienced anything like that before and hadn't been prepared for his response, which is why he tried not to think about it. He didn't want to attribute any significance to it, convincing himself that he was just inordinately attracted to her. He didn't want her to be special, because if she was special, if she was different than all of the women before her, he wouldn't be able to do what needed to be done.

 _She means nothing to you; you don't even know her._

The words became his mantra as he dried himself off, his muscles throbbing in complete exhaustion from his workout.

 _Perfect._

Throwing on jeans and a white tee, he went into the kitchen to make a protein shake; only twenty minutes until she would be here.

For some reason, he found himself walking around his apartment making sure that everything was clean and looked neat. It wasn't like he was a messy person in the first place, but he couldn't stop himself from making sure that everything looked presentable.

 _You just don't want her finding out more about you than you are willing to offer, that's all._

He couldn't remember the last time he'd brought a woman here, if he had ever. He was always working or at the studio, he barely even slept here. Taking the last sip of his chocolate shake, he rinsed the bottle and put it in the dishwasher, just as the phone in his apartment rang.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Black, it's John from the front desk, there is a Miss Elsa Carter here to see you," the concierge responded.

"Send her up," Tristan responded.

Hanging up the phone, he turned to look at the clock. She was fifteen minutes early. Since when was a woman fifteen minutes early for anything? He quickly washed his hands, before glancing around the apartment one more time, looking for anything that might seem out of place.

 _Do not lose control, Tristan; remember your goal; remember what is at stake._

He walked to stand by couch that faced the entryway, hand resting on the sofa, he closed his eyes for a moment to focus. As if he could sense her presence, his eyes opened, staring directly at the door, surprised that the fire burning in them didn't burn right through the wood to her.

 _Knock, knock._

The knock was almost barely perceptible. He fought his instinct to rush, instead walking calmly over to the door; wiping all emotion from his face, he opened the door. His eyes flared in recognition, his blood firing on seeing the familiar, freckled face, framed by her glossy, red waves. This time, he didn't have to provoke her, as soon as his eyes locked with hers, she felt the shock of desire pass through them, her mouth parting slightly. His jaw clenched for a second, trying to reign in the need that burned through him.

"Miss Carter," he said huskily, "please come in."

He moved back from the doorway, allowing her to enter. Today, again, she was dressed very practically, and yet he couldn't imagine her being any more enticing. She wore a pair of cropped navy pants that seemed to mold to the muscles of her legs and her shapely ass. Her white blouse had three-quarter length sleeves and a gold zipper embellishment on the front, drawing his eyes to the hint of cleavage that peeked out from above it.

He saw her swallow, and enter his apartment slowly, her beige loafers hardly making a sound on the hardwood floor. Even though her face showed no sign of skepticism, merely that of startled curiosity, as though she hadn't experienced the feeling of desire that had left her breathless.

"I...ahh…thank you," she responded, hesitantly, finally finding her words. "This is a lovely building. I didn't realize this is where I would be coming. Well, I mean, I knew that this is where I was going, obviously…"

Tristan watched in amusement as she rambled on nervously, finding far too much enjoyment in how endearing it made her.

"I just didn't realize that I would be going to your home," she finished, for a second, and then her hand came up to her mouth as if she had just thought of something. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to assume that this is your home. Is it your home? It's very beautiful, if it is…"

As she said the last, it was as if the beauty of her surroundings had just really sunk in. She finally trailed off here, as the task of taking in her surroundings overpowered her habit to just speak whatever thoughts happened to cross through her mind. Tristan watched as she slowly turned, taking in the expanse of his living room, the panoramic view provided by the floor-to-ceiling windows, the giant dining table, the state of the art kitchen, and finally, making the one hundred and eighty degree turned, she reached to face him again. He tried not to focus on the pleasure that diffused through him, watching her be so clearly impressed by his living space; it was never something he'd ever thought of before. He'd bought the condo because it was close to his company's office and because of the features and amenities that it offered, and because of the view. He'd never thought of using it to impress a woman before, he'd never had to. He rarely slept with women who knew him as Tristan Black. He slept with women who knew him as Titian, because it was easier, there was never the question as to whether or not they were there just for his money; as Titian, he knew exactly why they were with him, he retained the control.

This was different, she knew him as Tristan; she couldn't know that he was Titian, that was part of the deal. Her portrait couldn't be associated with the Guild.

"Miss Carter, thank you for coming," he broke the silence, when her focus finally returned to him.

"I…yes, of course…thank you for the opportunity, Mr. Black," she managed to respond, biting her lower lip to keep herself from saying anything else.

"If you'd like to have a seat at the table, Miss Carter, I'd like to go over a little bit about this process with you," Tristan said, firmly.

He was trying to stay decisively in his business-minded persona, which meant having to blatantly ignore how his body had responded to her. He'd been uncomfortably hard since she'd crossed the threshold, but thankfully, she'd been so preoccupied with his apartment that she hadn't noticed.

"Oh, of course, sure," she responded, eagerly, walking over to the table.

He watched as she ran her hand on the top of the wooden table, before pulling out a chair and taking a seat.

"Now, Miss Carter, I know they gave you this contract to look over yesterday, but I would like to go over a few specific points today before I have you sign it," Tristan continued, taking the seat across the table from her.

She nodded, her bright, green eyes never leaving his, staring at him with an enthusiastic, yet completely innocent and trusting, gaze.

"You can call me Ellie," she interjected, hesitantly, biting her lip.

If he hadn't been training his brain for the past twenty-four hours for this, reminding himself over and over again, why he was doing this, he would have stopped to second-guess his choice of action, but, as it stood, there was no turning back for Tristan.

 _She can't be trusted, just like her father._

The harsh flare of emotion that accompanied that thought, burned through his gaze, causing her to color again.

"Or, I mean, Elsa is fine, too, if you prefer," she continued, "Miss Carter just seems so –"

" _Ellie,_ " Tristan interrupted her, using her first name just to stop her from rambling again. At least, that's what he told himself. "You signed up as a model for me. The first sheet here that you need to sign is an NDA; it covers any and everything that goes on during this process as well as any and all information about me. If you violate the NDA, well, let me say just don't. Do you understand?"

"Yes, of course. You're a very important man, I completely understand why you wouldn't…Sorry, I googled who you were because well, I was curious. I mean, I think that it's wonderful that you take time away from Black Box for things like this; I've always found making time for personal hobbies to be so important, although I'm sure it can't be easy when you own the largest investment management company in the country…" she trailed off, catching his sharp stare that indicated she didn't need to tell him who he was or why he needed the NDA, "Sorry, yes, I understand."

Her blush deepened, her face turning a shade remarkably close to that of her hair; Tristan shifted in his seat to ease his uncomfortable erection that just seemed to get worse every time she decided to unconsciously ramble on.

"The remainder of the pages is the modeling contract. The points that I want to make sure that you are aware of is that over the course of the next few weeks, you won't be just modeling. In order for me to do my job, I have to get to know you; I have to get to know everything about you, which means that I will question you, I will push you, and you will respond."

He watched her eyes widen as she swallowed hard when he explained the extent of what she had really auditioned for.

"Everything?" she squeaked out, unsure of how personal the questions could be.

"When was your last period?" he asked - a blatant attempt to show her exactly just how few boundaries there would be when it came to the things that he wanted to know.

He had to bite his tongue to prevent the chuckle from escaping him as the shade of her face turned to match that of her hair; he'd shocked her with the intimacy of his question and his eyes held hers, daring her to answer. It was either answer or leave, that was the gauntlet that he had just thrown.

"Last week," she replied calmly, her green eyes returning his steely gaze, "would you like to know how long it was? Or if I prefer tampons or pads?"

He couldn't stop the laugh that broke free from his lips or the smile that remained on his face at her cheeky response. Maybe he'd stepped a little too far with that question, but she'd given it right back to him and damn, if it didn't make him crave her even more.

"No, thank you," he answered with a hint of a laugh.

 _Damn, his siren had fire._

 _She's not yours._

That train of thought put a damper on his attitude, drawing him back to his original task.

"You will be available to me any day, at any hour, over the coming weeks. This is a full-time project and anything and anyone in your life will have to come second to it; for which you will obviously be compensated for."

His eyes narrowed, seeing hers dart down for a split second when he explained that she would be at his beck-and-call for the next coming weeks.

 _What plans does she have? And with who?_

He felt his blood heat at the thought of who she might be spending her time with. It wasn't jealous; she wasn't his. He just didn't have time for delays in the project if she couldn't be available – _of course that was the reason._

"Is that going to be a problem?" he asked ominously.

"What? No! No, of course not. I'm…umm… in between jobs at the moment so, availability isn't an issue," she offered sheepishly, her face unable to hide the fact that there was more to the story there; something else was going on.

 _He would have plenty of time to find out._

"Good," he said firmly, "so, let me just paraphrase these again. For the coming weeks, everything about you belongs to me – your feelings, your thoughts, your emotions, your memories, your time, and your body. If I call you at two in the morning because I'm feeling so inspired, you will show up. If I told you to strip down to nothing right now, you would do it. Do you understand?"

Even though he meant for his statement to be blunt and businesslike, to make sure that she understood completely what she was agreeing to, he couldn't stop the darkly possessive desire that emanated from his stare. This was supposed to be professional; it was supposed to be about revenge, but from the second that the question left his mouth, Tristan held his breath, afraid that it was too much and that she was going to say no and leave, walking out of his life forever. The thought of her leaving left a trail of searing agony through his tensed muscles, concentrating around his heart.

 _He barely knew this gorgeous and awkward siren sitting in front of him, and yet the thought of not being able to get to know her further was torture._

In those moments of silence that felt like hours, the thought of revenge left him; all thoughts left him except one: _Please, stay._

She was gnawing on her lower lip, her eyes staring blankly at the contract in front of her, even though she, clearly, was not reading it. Tristan watched as her mind worked, processed what he had just said; her face unable to conceal the emotions that she was experiencing: uncertainty, fear, intrigue, and a flicker of desire.

When Tristan perceived the last, he was on the verge of reaching across the table, ripping up the contract, and showing her just how enjoyable belonging to him was, when her eyes darted up to meet his in determination.

"I understand," she replied unwaveringly, even though the concern in her eyes betrayed her.

He nodded briefly. The relief that coursed through him was so staggering that he almost felt lightheaded. Now that he had knew he had won the first battle, he told himself it was only from the anxiety that without her, he wouldn't be able to get his mother's portrait back; that was the only thing important here – _not her._

"I'll give you a few minutes so you can read through the rest of the details in the contract and then sign and date at the end. If you have any further questions, just ask," Tristan instructed, standing up from his chair and walking into the kitchen to get a glass of water.

From behind the safety of the kitchen counter, he drank down the glass of ice water, trying to cool the heat burning through him. The mix of desire for her and anxious anticipation for what she would say, had put his entire body on edge, and he needed to cool down if he was going to stay focused on his target. A target, that he kept undressing with his eyes.

 _Why did Jack Carter's daughter have to be so mesmerizing?_

His stare intensified on her just as she clicked on the pen to sign her name.

 _And seal her fate._


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

 _God,_ her mouth felt like sandpaper right now, and she knew it wasn't from the medication. Her hand shook as she scribbled her name on the signature line, hoping that he couldn't see her trembles from where he stood, watching her ominously from his kitchen. Ellie shifted nervously in her seat, legs crossing, trying to ease the ache that formed between her thighs.

She'd never felt like this before. Then again, she'd never done anything like this before, maybe this was normal.

 _What was she thinking? Agreeing to all of this?_

She may be awkward, but she wasn't an idiot and she wasn't blind; the man was beyond gorgeous. It was no wonder the other women at the audition were throwing themselves at him, willing to do _anything_ to get the job. Hell, if she had thought that she could accomplish it seductively, she would have probably done the same thing.

 _Ok, maybe not quite…_

But, she saw the way that he had looked at all of them, especially the ones who seemed _willing_. He wasn't surprised by their actions, in fact, he seemed like it was normal for women to fall all over themselves for him. Sure, they wanted the job, they wanted to model for the piece, but there was more – they also wanted him and the chance to seduce or be seduced by him; any fool could see that.

The old Elsa would have been shocked; she would have walked right out of that studio the second that Tristan Black almost made out with the first model. _Or was it the second?_ Or how about when he'd leaned in and whispered in her ear, the suggestiveness with which he said she would get to know him, sending a shiver all the way down her spine, the sensation pooling between her legs. The old Elsa would have never wanted to be considered for whatever this job is, but _she_ wasn't the old she anymore.

There were plenty of times when the old Elsa tried to break through, tried to stop her from the path that she was on – like when she got out of the cab as pulled up to a hotel this morning or when the elevator took her up to Tristan's apartment.

 _Or when he told her that she would belong to him for the next four weeks._

The old Elsa had frozen in panic at all of these things, but the new Ellie wasn't going to balk at this adventure. She'd sheltered herself for too long, locked herself away for too long. Now, well, she might not have that much time left to experience life and she'd be damned if she wasted it.

She signed up for the audition because she wanted to feel beautiful outside of her comfort zone, and modeling for someone was definitely outside of the box for her. When she arrived at the studio yesterday though, the moment she walked in the room and saw _him,_ her whole body had become electrified.

 _And when he had looked at her…like he wanted to devour her…_

It was the most incredible feeling that she had ever had – to be desired like that with just one look. When Tristan had gotten…close…with the other model, she almost broke; it was like she wasn't breathing, watching the two of them, until her clipboard slipped from her grasp, for the second time, and startled her back into reality.

She had no idea why he had chosen her; the others were without a doubt more qualified and definitely more willing to participate in any extracurricular activities, but for some reason, he'd asked her to stay. It was that feeling that propelled her hand as it signed her name on the contract - the intense and inexplicable attraction that she had for this man and the sense that he felt the same; it was as if he needed her, and she needed to find out why. No one had ever looked at her that way before; then again she'd never really put herself out there, not wanting to get hurt, or hurt someone in return. Ellie shuddered at the thought.

Ellie had been diagnosed with Recurrent Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia when she was a child. Well, it hadn't been recurrent when she'd first been diagnosed at age eight; at that point it was just ALL. After a few months of chemotherapy and recovery, the doctors had proclaimed her in remission and life had gone on. During her senior year in college, she'd noticed the symptoms starting to recur. Looking back, she could call them symptoms, but at the time, she just thought it was the stress of finishing her degree and having to look for a job that was causing her constant sicknesses and the feeling of being tired all the time.

 _When you are eight years old, they don't explain to you that these are the symptoms of your cancer._

So, adult Ellie, didn't put the two together. She graduated and began working in her father's company, Carter and Young, a sizeable accounting firm in the city. She hadn't wanted to work for her dad originally, she wanted to make her own success, but with almost a year of a perpetual illness that progressively got worse, she'd been unable to make interviews or application deadlines. Finally, after several months of working for her dad, with him seeing her almost every day, he'd insisted that she go to the doctor. Which she did and based on her symptoms, the doctor assumed that she had mono because, after all, her cancer had been cured, right?

 _Wrong._

After a failed attempt to heal from the case of mono that she never had, her doctor finally referred her to an oncologist and that was when the fun really began; her ALL had returned and since it had gone untreated for almost two years by this point, it was a little stronger than the first time. Well, a little stronger meant that there was a little more involved in eradicating it. It took two and a half years.

First, there was remission induction with prednisone, vincristine, and daunorubicin. Then, there was the intensification period – that had been fun; more drugs at higher doses. Two years of constantly feeling sick, being in and out of the hospital, being tested, looking like a shell of herself. Ellie was just grateful that she hadn't lost all of her hair during that time; although it had taken almost a year for it to get back to its normal thickness and color.

 _Almost a year._

It had worked though; she'd entered remission again, one that was going to be much more closely monitored by her current oncologist, Dr. Sion. Now, it was almost a year since she'd been deemed cancer free. Another five weeks and she would celebrate, but not yet; she'd learned not to take anything for granted when it came to cancer, or life, in general.

Her illness had taken up so much of adult life these past several years. Her dream job as publisher, her social life, her personal life, they'd all taken a hit. It was hard to apply for a job that required reading, when the very task would some days make her nauseous, and that's ignoring the time-intensive treatment that she needed to receive. A social life? It was hard to go out with friends when you couldn't drink, when you felt like you were hungover all the time from the chemo, and when you looked like death. And, forget about a personal life. She had barely felt well enough on a good day to go outside, let alone go on a date. Plus, what the chemo had done to her body – who would have looked twice at dating her, except out of pity? Mostly, though, Ellie couldn't stand the thought of falling for someone and putting them in the position of having to take care of her; it wasn't right.

Her cancer, and its cure, had taken so much from her, and now that she had just gotten back to what she assumed normal must feel like, she wouldn't let it take any more.

 _Yes, the contract was signed, but Tristan could never know what she'd had to conquer to get here. She wouldn't let her illness control or influence any more of her life._

She wanted him to always look at her the way that he was now – with the intense focus and possessiveness and desire that set every nerve fiber on fire. If that were to ever be clouded by the inevitable pity that was sure to follow the revelation of what she had struggled with, Ellie was sure she would die.

She had to hope the whole bit about taking off her clothes wasn't serious; she still had too many scars on her arms from being poked and prodded, to the point where even being a recovering addict would seem like a stretch. It was sad that her first response to the idea of getting naked was that he couldn't find out about her battle with cancer, instead of a normal concern like 'should he be asking me to take my clothes off?' Or 'what is he going to do to me if I take my clothes off?'

It was a modeling job; many times, especially for art, that involved removing clothes so, in retrospect, if she wasn't ok with it, she shouldn't have auditioned.

 _Why had she auditioned?_

She asked herself again for the thousandth time between yesterday and today.

 _For once, she wanted someone to look at her and not see her illness; to desire her and not just desire to help her; to appreciate her and not just because of what she had to overcome. She refused to be defined by her illness any longer, starting with this, starting with Tristan Black._

"All done?" came his deep baritone voice from the kitchen, the sound reverberating through her entire body.

"Yes, I think so," she mumbled, forcing aside the train of thought that she'd stumbled upon.

She pushed the pen and contract away from her on the table, just like she pushed away all of her uncertainties over what she had just agreed to do.

 _You can do this._

She stood up, gripping the edge of the table as she tried to ignore the lightheadedness and nausea that accompanied her sudden movement.

 _Just breathe, Ellie._

Head-rushes were common for her, but since she'd been on her new meds, they'd become much more frequent. He already knew her to be a klutz, so hopefully, the swaying a bit on standing didn't raise any red flags.

Pretending to arrange her blouse for a second allowed the feeling to pass, where she could turn to face him confidently, and with a clear head. Well, it was clear, until she met his eyes, the hazel in them almost turning to a bright gold as he watched her. They were mesmerizing, just like he was. A golden God, standing in front of her in jeans and a t-shirt. If she had any artistic talent, she'd be asking him to strip down in return, but alas, her skills were dismal which meant that the all she could do was just imagine what lay underneath.

 _What she wouldn't give to touch him; the hard planes of his chest, the muscles in his arms._

Ellie bit her lip just in time to escape a small moan from escaping her mouth. She'd never thought of someone like this before; she'd also never known someone so good-looking before. Her face flushed as she realized that his slightly inquisitive gaze had turned into full-blown intrigue as he caught her eyeing him up and down. A dangerous smile began to spread across his lips, and she could have kicked herself for being so obvious.

"So, what happens next?" she asked, trying to divert the conversation from her obvious admiration, "or were you serious when you said that you wanted me to take my clothes off?"


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Tristan let out a bark of laughter.

 _Who was this woman?_

One second, she was debating walking out the door. Of course, she tried to hide it, but when her focus was on reading the contract in front of her, her anxiety managed to slip out subtly into her posture; he even caught her brief need to stabilize on the table as she stood, probably from the emotional rush of signing his contract, knowing what it could entail.

And then, the next second, she's the one eyeing him up. He knew the look and he knew how he looked. He'd gotten that stare a thousand times before, from probably a thousand different women, all with their mind on one thing, but for some reason, with Ellie, it was different. Her look of abject desire for him, the unfettered appreciation emanating from her gaze, it made his blood boil with desire, seeing… _knowing…_ that she wanted him. From the way she stared, and the way she embarrassingly realized that she had been caught doing it, could it be that she'd never felt this way about someone before? To be so caught off-guard by her own attraction to him.

 _There was no way that was true, but he was going to find out._

And, to top it all off, recovering from her embarrassment to taunt him brazenly. How could he help but laugh? Elsa Carter was a walking contradiction, and one that he was going to enjoy solving.

"No, Elsa, you can leave your clothes on," he said, letting some gravity back into his tone with the use of her full first name, "for now."

He watched as she visibly relaxed at his words, even though she'd been the one to suggest it, there was a part of her that was against her being here.

 _Interesting._

"Why are you here?" he asked.

 _Let's start this slow._

As much as she wanted to appear like she was unfazed by everything that was going on, he knew better, and having her pretending, wasn't going to allow her to fall for him. No, he needed her relax, comfortable, willing to let down her guard and let him in.

"What do you mean?" she returned, confusion evident in her tone, "I'm here because you picked me. At the audition, yesterday."

He shook his head as she misunderstood his question, purposefully taking it too literally.

"No, Elsa Carter, I want to know _why_ you are here, _why_ you auditioned to do this. I've gone through this process many times; I've seen all different types of woman come out and audition, which is why I know that you've never done something like this before. So, again, why did you choose to audition for this? What are you looking for?" he explained, his eyes locking on hers, preventing her gaze from shifting, preventing her mind from coming up with an answer other than the truth.

"I wanted to do something different, something that was outside of my comfort zone," she responded, her chin lifting as if to dare him to question her.

 _Ok, that was true, but it didn't seem like the whole truth to him._

"Why the sudden desire to challenge yourself?" he replied.

 _And me._

"Because I was tired of who I was; I needed to change."

More cryptic answers.

"And, who exactly were you, Miss Carter?" he probed, delving deeper for the answer that he was looking for.

Her eyes flared at his formal tone, yet personal question; she didn't back down though.

"I was scared, trapped by my fears of living and experiencing life. I was stuck in the same place for a long time, and I didn't realize how much I had to lose. So, now, I'm changing; I'm living. I'm doing things the old prim and proper Elsa Carter would never do. So, you can try to unnerve me, Mr. Black, but I'm stronger and more stubborn than I look, and I am doing this, whatever it might entail, for me," her words came out in a determined rush, almost like when she nervously rambled, but this was different; she might be nervous, but this not so 'prim and proper' Ellie was aching to come out and make herself heard.

"Is that what you think I'm trying to do?" he asked, with a half-smile, casually walked back over to her, taking his time approaching her as if he were stalking his prey, watching every subtle reaction and response that his movements triggered.

"I don't know. Are you?" she replied, her bravado faltering for a moment, as he came to stand inches away from her.

Ellie's eyes widened, but she didn't flinch, she didn't move to sit back down or awkwardly shift and break her gaze from his; she stood there, her chin tilted up slightly, and stayed her ground, waiting for whatever he had planned next.

"Well, I wouldn't say that I'm trying," he began, his voice a coarse whisper, as his head leaned closer to hers, their faces separated by maybe an inch, "I would say that I'm succeeding."

His face moved even closer to hers as he finished his taunt, their lips barely separated. Her mouth parted slightly at his tease, but she was unable to respond, her body completely overwhelmed by his physical closeness. Finally, her eyes broke from his to stare at his mouth, licking her lips with the anticipation of his kiss. She was completely entranced, which had been his goal; the fact that he was too, however, was a problem.

 _Well, that backfired._

He had wanted to take hold of her confession and her dare to try and rattle her, and show her just how unsettled he could make her. It had been going pretty smoothly for him, right up until a few seconds ago, when her mouth had parted and her eyes staring at his lips in expectation of his kiss. The sexual tension between them was thick and stifling – which is what he wanted. He wanted to come over and prove that as strong as she was, her attraction to him was stronger, that he was stronger, build her up to exactly where she was and then walk away. But, now that he stood here, a breath away from kissing her, he didn't know that he could stop himself.

Her shallow, labored breathing the past few seconds mirrored the pounding of her heart. Tristan stared at her eyes, her lids heavy and aching for the excuse to close. Ellie licked her lips, sending a bolt of desire straight to his groin. She'd worn no make-up again, which meant the peachy-pink of her lips was all-natural. The full, moist flesh just begging to be kissed and explored.

 _God, how he wanted her, which is why he needed to step back before he really scared her away._

Tristan inhaled deeply, letting the oxygen flood his brain with reason as he prepared to extricate himself from the alluring depths of desire that had ensnared him. As if sensing that he was about to move away, she bit her full and decadent lower lip in disappointment, and that was all it took.

" _Shit_ ," he groaned out on his exhale, as his mouth closed the distance between them and captured her achingly sweet lips.

His tongue used the sharp intake of her breath to gain entry into the warm depths of her mouth. Exploring the soft flesh within, coaxing out her tongue in response. His groan reverberated deep in his chest as her tongue tentatively began to toy with his.

 _God, she was so innocent._

Tristan knew that he shouldn't be doing this; he should not be kissing her right now, not on the very first day. _That_ was a mistake. He needed her to truly fall for him, and giving into his desire right now ran the risk of scaring her away by moving too fast, by taking advantage of her desire to break free from the chains of her old self.

 _But he couldn't stop himself._

She was exquisite; she tasted delicious – like warm vanilla. The intoxicating mix of innocence and eagerness electrified every cell in his body. The satisfaction he experienced when her desire overcame her inhibitions, when she gave in to him, gave in to what she wanted, fueled his passion. Somehow he found it within himself to keep their contact just to their kiss; his hands were clenched at his sides, flexing painfully with the need to touch her. His erection painful against the front of his jeans, aching for release.

 _If he touched her, he wouldn't be able to stop._

He had enough of a brain to know that much, at least. But it would be enough for now, he thought as his mouth continued to play over hers, finally able to draw the soft fullness of her lower lip into his mouth. Her soft moan egged him on. Releasing the flesh that he held captive, he deepened the kiss, his tongue pressing farther inside of her. He felt her mouth begin to close around his tongue, as she returned his torture, gently sucking on his tongue. Hunger burned through him, surprised by her action.

 _He should have known she would torment him in return; he should have known not to underestimate her._

He groaned deeply into her mouth, relishing the pressure on his tongue before she finally released him. The kiss quickly ignited into something more. She learned quickly as their tongues dueled, each trying to take more from the other. He heard her moan softly into his mouth as she tipped into him.

 _She needed to touch him._

The thought was brief in her mind just before she realized that her hands had moved up to rest on the hard planes of his chest, helping to steady herself. Underneath her hands, Ellie felt Tristan's chest burn. The flesh hard and firm underneath her fingertips. At least this time she knew that her lack of balance wasn't from the medication. She'd never experienced anything like this. _Of course,_ she'd kissed guys before, but that didn't even seem like the appropriate word to describe what they were doing right now. He was consuming her; he'd kissed her and somehow managed to reach that part deep down inside of her that was begging to be let out, the part of her that wanted to forget her past, forget her inhibitions, to forget herself. And for a second, she allowed herself to.

Tristan let out a hiss as her hands touched his chest, lust searing through him. He hadn't expected her to touch him first and that mistake would cost him. Before he could think, his hands were on her hips, lifting to set her on the table, coming to stand between her legs.

 _God, she felt incredible._

Hands grasping the firm flesh of her hips, he relished the feel of her soft curves pressed up against him, their bodies flush from hip to shoulder. The feel of her nipples hard and aroused through the fabric of her bra and blouse made his erection swell even more firmly against the cradle of her hips.

The seconds that it took for his body to process the desire raging inside of his, was just enough for her to process it too; his sudden movement had thrown her off. It put a barely-perceptible crack in her show of bravado, but from his perspective, her reaction was as evident as an earthquake.

 _He'd gone too far, too fast, just like he knew he would._

Her lips pulled ever so slightly away from his, with a sharp intake of breath; her hands, instead of gripping his shirt like before, were now flat and gave him the slightest sensation of pressure pushing against him.

 _Fuck._

He groaned in anguish, enjoying the feel of her against him for one last millisecond before forcing himself away from her. As calmly and swiftly as he could, he picked her up off the table, allowing Ellie to stand on her own, as he stepped back a good three feet from her.

 _Get ahold of yourself, Tristan._

His eyes hardened as he coolly observed her flustered state; her hand coming up to touch her beautifully swollen lips, her flushed cheeks and labored breathing, the momentary self-assessment before she finally raised her spellbound gaze to his.

Her eyes looked back at him with inquisitive astonishment, wondering what had just happened. She probably hadn't even realized the minute hesitation that Tristan had felt from her – which was good; _it meant that he hadn't ruined everything_. He'd been able to pull away just before he'd crossed the line where the 'old Elsa,' as she liked to refer to her more practical and restrained side, would have taken control and probably ripped up the contract she had just signed and stormed out of his apartment – with a high likelihood of some sort of physical refutation of the liberties that he had just taken, regardless of whether she was a willing participant or not.

 _She's a redhead, Tristan. Of course, she would smack you before walking out._

Thankfully… _thankfully_ , he had narrowly avoided that circumstance. Even though she seemed flustered, she didn't look like she was about to bolt.

"I think we can definitely consider you 'unnerved,'" Tristan half-heartedly joked, breaking the pregnant silence.

Her eyes immediately shot to his, a flare of defiance radiating out of them.

 _Much better._

Although, her reason for being here required a slight alteration in his tactics.

"I…umm…I don't know what-" Ellie began, awkwardly stumbling over her words, or lack thereof.

"I apologize for getting a little carried away there, Elsa," he began, his voice deepening with severity, "while I do intend to get to know you, that was not quite what I meant. I can assure you that it won't happen again."

 _Until you ask for it, which you will. You will want me so badly, you will want to give into your desire so badly, you'll have no choice._

"Yes…of course, it's fine," she mumbled, biting her swollen lip, "so then, what does happen now?"

His lips thinned for a second, before he responded.

"Come back tomorrow at six," he instructed her, as if she was just another client of his, as if he hadn't just been about to ravish her on his dining room table not even a minute ago.

She nodded, gathering up her purse and making her way to the door.

"Thank you, Tristan. I look forward to working with you," she said, pausing inside the doorway, "have a good night."

He didn't trust himself to follow her too closely; his desire for her still burning through his veins, aching to be fulfilled.

"Not as much as I…" his words stopping her as he turned to face her retreating form, "Oh, and Elsa, wear something nice."

Her eyes widened ever so slightly before she gave a nod of acknowledgement closing the door behind her.

For a second, Tristan took in the indescribable change that occurred in the room without her presence. It was the same as it had always been, but when Ellie had been here, there had been more energy, more vibrancy, more emotion…just more; while she had been in the apartment, there had just been more.

 _It was your attraction to her. You need to get that shit under control._

He was a mess around her, and he couldn't afford to be. There was a lot riding on how he handled his relationship with her, he couldn't afford to blow it.

 _She was just such a fucking enticing enigma. And she wanted him._

Which meant he was going to change how he had to approach her. He hadn't expected her to be craving to break the rules and wanting to give in to her emotions. When they met yesterday, he'd seen the 'reserved' Elsa – nervous, unsure if she should be there, properly dressed, and shocked by his actions. Sure, he'd seen the sparks of boldness, but he hadn't realized that she was so willing, so wanting to embrace them.

 _This was going to be even easier than he expected._

Although, he felt that even after her impassioned confession, that she was still holding something back – a key piece in impetus for her change of lifestyle. It didn't matter now though; it was only the first day. He'd find out what it was eventually.

 _He'd find out everything eventually._

Realizing that he wasn't going to have to persuade her to act on her emotions, that she already _wanted_ to act on them, even if she was hesitant about it, was a pleasant development though. If only Jack Carter knew just how much his daughter was asking to be taken advantage of, he would have thought twice before setting all of this into motion.

 _Now, you just have to worry about controlling himself_.

If he'd learned anything from this afternoon, it was that he couldn't move too fast without risking her complete withdrawal. She was still unsure if going outside of her comfort box was the right thing to do, no matter how confidently she insisted of her surety. One wrong move, one touch too far, could tip her in the opposite direction, and that would be devastating to every plan that he had in place.

No, he couldn't have her question her choices or start to see them as reckless or improper, which meant that all he had to do was gently encourage her emotions - her brazenness, her desire for him, and let her personal desire to pursue them take over; all he had to do was make her want him so badly that her need for him would completely obliterate all of her apprehensions – and that wouldn't be a problem.

 _You should probably start calling her Ellie, then._

His jaw clenched at the thought. Ellie associated 'Elsa' with the old version of herself, the version that she was trying to forget.

 _Which means that every time you use it, you're reminding her of the part of her personality that would disapprove of her actions, that would disapprove of you._

 _Fuck._ He'd done it to try to maintain his distance, keeping that last barrier as assurance that he wasn't getting in too deep with his own emotions; he didn't want to be that comfortable, but he might not have that luxury if he wanted to completely seduce her. If this was going to work, he needed to put every effort into drawing out her wild side, encouraging her to want him, to need him, to fall for him – and the only way to do that was for her to believe that he felt the same way about her; calling her 'Elsa' was not going to give her that impression. Tristan had lucked out since she'd already decided that she wanted to make those emotionally daring and exciting choices, he just needed to reassure her that they were right ones.

 _And they were – for him, at least._

His phone buzzed in his pocket, pulling him from his plotting.

"What do you want?" his voice hard and foreboding.

"Is that really any way to greet your friend?" Pierce replied from the other end, a distinct sense of enjoyment evident in his voice.

"You seem to have a very loose definition of the word 'friend' right now, Pierce," Tristan responded sarcastically.

"Why do you have to be so damn uptight about everything, Tristan? Just calm down. You'll get your precious drawing back, I'm sure," Pierce replied, his enjoyment morphing into annoyance, "just after I win the competition."

"What do you want?" Tristan asked again, his annoyance mimicking Pierce's.

"Not much," Pierce taunted for a moment before finally revealing the purpose of this call, "I just ran into Morgan. He had a pretty interesting story to tell me about an audition that you held yesterday."

"I'm sure it was fascinating." _Fucking Morgan. What the fuck._

"I heard that I missed a good show. Seems like you found yourself a mousey ginger to play with."

Tristan's fist clenched instinctively at his friend's subtle dig at Ellie, feeling like he wanted to punch Pierce in the face for the second time in a week; the thought startled him.

 _Since when did he care about what other people thought of Ellie?_

He was only using her, too. Tempering his reaction, Tristan took a deep breath, bringing rational thoughts back into his brain. It was obvious that Pierce was toying with him, baiting him for more information. He knew more than he was saying but he wanted to gauge Tristan's response to his provocation. Pierce thrived on finding and exploiting abnormalities to suit whatever ends he decided he wanted – end that were usually harmless. _Usually._ In this case, it was trying to ruin every chance Tristan had winning the stupid competition that he should have never agreed to in the first place. If backing out of it wouldn't create negative publicity for the Guild, now that _everyone_ knew that they were participating, and wouldn't imply his defeat by forfeit to Pierce, he would have rescinded his consent by now.

At any rate, Tristan knew Pierce was fishing for information on the woman that he would be using for the competition. Pierce wanted the upper hand, one of the reasons why he'd auctioned off Tristan's mother's portrait, and now he wanted to see how Tristan was going to top that. Or, more appropriately, he wanted to see _who_ was going to top that. They thrived on getting women to fall for them, but to capture that depth of love would require a lot, and for some reason Pierce found that idea entertaining.

"Yes, I did find a new subject for my piece since my original work was stolen from me. Is that all you called to ask?" Tristan tried to make his tone seem as bored and bland as possible.

"Morgan said your reaction to her was…unexpected," Pierce hinted again, the smile on his face reflected in his voice, "I'm very intrigued but, yes, I guess that's all. For now."

 _Ah, Christ._

"Yes, well someone had to act like a fool since you weren't there to put on your usual show. Plus, if I did what you expected, I wouldn't be prepared to win so easily, now would I? Can't wait to see what you've come up with. Probably something involving your typical over-the-top, just-wants-to-sleep-with-you garbage. I hope that works out for you…but hey, nice talking to you, man. I'll see you around," Tristan said, smiling with satisfaction at his response before hanging up on his devious friend.

He knew what he had said would annoy Pierce. Which was probably not the best thing to have done, if losing his mom's portrait was any indication. Not to mention, it would only provoke Pierce to looking into Ellie further, and boy, would he have a field day when he realized that Tristan's model was Jack Carter's daughter. Even if he didn't find out about the blackmail, which at some point was inevitable, God only knew how he would try to use and manipulate the situation to his advantage or to his entertainment.

 _What had Morgan been thinking?_

That was what Tristan wanted to know. Although he had a feeling that Pierce had weaseled the information out of him; he was good at that.

Tristan tossed his phone down on the kitchen counter in frustration with how the whole afternoon had gone. First, he had let his lust for Ellie get ahold of him and almost blow his entire plan and then, to be plagued by Pierce about the whole situation. He knew that fucker wouldn't give up either; this wasn't the last he was going to hear from him about his new 'mousey ginger'; this was just the beginning.


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

 _What just happened? What had she been thinking?_

She had just kissed one of the richest men in the country as if she did things like that all the time – _NOT._ Ellie shook her head at herself, her hand coming up to touch her tender lips again after hailing a cab to take her home.

 _This was not at all what she had expected._

She should have seen it coming, in all honestly, after seeing how he acted with that other model in the audition yesterday. Surprisingly, it had been the pang of jealousy she had felt in that moment that had stunned her; it had outweighed the shock of watching something like that happen right in front of her when she realized that she had wanted to be that woman, that model. She'd wanted to be the one that he desired and craved, and somehow, today she had been.

She'd never felt anything like this before. Her attraction to him, her desire to want him to feel the same. At the start of the audition, she had felt like less; she'd felt like the old Elsa – meek, timid, shy, always thinking that she never deserved that kind of attention, all symptoms of her illness aside, because she wasn't gorgeous enough or enticing enough. Which, for some reason, she'd let herself be ok with for most of her life.

 _Until yesterday._

Sure, she'd gone to the audition with the goal of doing something that she never would have felt comfortable doing, the goal of doing something to make her feel beautiful. She never expected her reaction to _him._ The moment she saw him - a golden God sitting behind the table assessing the options before him, he had captivated her and not just with his looks. His presence in the room was overwhelming, so confident and in control; it was intoxicating.

 _Maybe because so many things in her life had been out of her control._

It didn't matter. She was positive that he wouldn't choose her, especially after seeing how the other women looked and how he had responded to them. Sure, he had singled her out from the very beginning, but she assumed it was because she stuck out like a sore thumb; she had been nothing like the rest of them and they'd made sure to let her know it.

But, in spite of herself, Tristan had picked her. She couldn't believe it when he had told her to stay. For a second, she thought she'd been hallucinating, that it had been a dream for sure.

 _Why? Why me?_

She still wondered. Maybe at some point during this process she would have the guts to ask him that, but for right now, it was taking all of her effort to not be completely overwhelmed by him.

 _And his kisses._

Dear God, they had been incredible. No, incredible didn't even begin to describe what she had felt for those all-too-brief moments: amazing, unbelievable, and consumed. Ellie hadn't dated in a while, with being sick, and all, but from what she could remember from the time before cancer hadn't taken over her life, nothing could compare to this. The fire that burned through her, her desire to be consumed by him, it had awoken every cell in her body. Like cancer, her need for him, to kiss him, to touch him, to connect with him, spread invasively through her entire body, affecting every organ and cell; she'd had no power to stop it.

 _Only this cancer wasn't one that she wanted to be cured of._

It was hard not to acknowledge her concerns – the secrecy, the contract, the potential physical requirements; it was a lot to think about – a lot that would have sent the old Elsa running and cowering in the safety of what was known and normal for her.

 _But no more._

She pushed her doubts and reservations to the back of her mind; she'd had enough of them to last a lifetime. What did it matter if he didn't feel exactly the same? So what if this is how he treated every woman who modeled for him before?

 _It's not like she was falling for him._

No, she wasn't falling for him. She didn't need that kind of seriousness in her life right now, especially not with him. _As if that was even possible_. For whatever reason that she couldn't fathom at the moment, Tristan Black, one of the most eligible bachelors in the country, was attracted to _her_ , wanted _her_ , choose _her;_ and she didn't understand it, but she wasn't going to question it. She was going to enjoy this, whatever it was, whatever it led to; she was going to relish it and not let herself get in the way of experiencing life any further.

For the first time, in a long time, she felt excited, albeit a bit nervous too, about what was happening in her life, about her future; a future that was finally going to be decided by her and not by her disease.


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Tristan wished he could ignore Morgan's call, but it would have been for the second time today; ignoring it again would raise red flags.

"What's up?" he answered, not bothering with pleasantries.

"You alright, man?" was Morgan's response.

For all his good looks and particular tastes, Morgan was a genuinely nice guy. He'd joined the Guild after their second year, hired to be the face of the organization, to give their fans someone to associate the group with. He'd gone to college with them and was somehow distantly related to Sloane, even though they looked nothing alike. Morgan had hair similar in texture and length to Tristan's, except it was a rich mahogany. He was, by far, the most muscular of them all, always going to the gym and lifting. Tristan used to try to go with him, but he was way too crazy with his workouts for Tristan to keep up, not to mention that he went at all hours of the night.

Morgan wasn't quite a loner like Sloane, but he had his fair share of secrets even though he liked to pretend that he didn't. He was a very adept businessman, which is why the Guild paid him very well for his work; he liked what he did, especially all of the little bonuses that came along with it, like consoling models who weren't chosen for the pieces. He definitely enjoyed the perks to the point where Tristan almost had to say something to him a few times, but thankfully he was pretty good at knowing when he'd crossed a line, unlike Pierce.

"Yeah, just a busy day at the office. Trying to tie up a bunch of loose ends so I can focus," Tristan replied, the irritation in his tone clear, not that that would stop Morgan from prying.

"Alright, I just wanted to check in after the other day. Is the woman you chose ok? Did she sign the contract?"

"Yeah, we're good," he said, unwilling to elaborate.

"Great, I wasn't sure about that one with how quickly we had to pull the audition together. Plus, that girl looked like a deer in headlights for basically the entire time she was there; I'm still shocked that you picked her over the others and even more shocked that she agreed to the contract once she read it, especially after how you acted."

Tristan knew better than to be fooled by the fact that there was no question in his friend's last comment; Morgan wanted an explanation.

"Yeah, nope, she signed. Figured I needed to switch things up if I'm going to beat Pierce."

"Seriously, you have to tell me what is going on. You asked for the audition and I set it up, didn't ask any questions, let you go act all weird and shit. Now, you keep talking about winning and beating Pierce. I know he lost your mom's portrait but what the hell is going on?"

"Pierce signed us up for a competition at the Met; I thought you heard when Bernie announced it at the exhibit – portraits depicting love or some shit like that. The ass thinks he has a legit shot at beating me, which would be laughable if it wasn't so sad."

"No. I did not hear that announcement; I must have been out dealing with the winning bidders. Ahh, shit, Tristan, I thought we sorted out all of this competition between you two years ago," Morgan replied with a new frustrated understanding of the situation, "so, that's what this is all about."

"Yeah," Tristan laughed, "that is what all of this is about; there a competition and I'm going to win it."

"Goddamn it. What is the matter with you two? I expect this from him, Tristan, but not from you."

"I know, it was a mistake. One that I would have remedied, except that Pierce lost my mother's portrait to that jackass Carter so that I specifically wouldn't win the competition with it, which means I now have to; I'm not going to let him get away with that shit," Tristan swore.

"You two are fucking dickheads, you know that, right? I swear to God, if you two screw up what we've got going on here with your asinine need to best one another, I will kill both of you."

"Yeah, well, that's only if I don't kill Pierce first."

"Ahh, fuck. That's why he jumped on me with questions when I mentioned I was surprised that you had an audition without him," Morgan said, realizing the bigger picture of what had been going on. "Now that I know what the fuck is going on, I'm not being dragged in between you two. I'm not picking sides, and I'm going to make sure Pierce knows what will happen if he tries to use me for information again."

"Yeah, he's trying to get another one up on me; as if losing my mom's portrait wasn't enough."

"Aren't you getting it back?"

"I'm working on it; it just won't be back in time for the competition. Anyway, I have to go. I'll let you know if I need anything else."

"Alright, later," Morgan said darkly, hanging up the phone.

Of course, Pierce didn't mention to Morgan about the competition that he'd enrolled them in even though Morgan was supposed to be in charge of scheduling and coordinating all that type of stuff. Tristan shook his head as he dropped his briefcase down by the couch and walked into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water.

At least the whole notion of the competition had completely either explained or distracted Morgan from the original purpose of his call which was to figure out what the hell was so special about Elsa Carter.

 _If he only knew._

Tristan felt himself getting hard just thinking about her. The inextricable mix of calm reserve and determined brazenness, her innocent and yet powerful response to him; it was incredible.

 _Focus._

He couldn't think about that tonight though. Tonight, he couldn't cross any of those lines. She wanted him, that was without a doubt, but he needed to build that up to the point where it would be impossible for her to resist him, to the point where she would be the one to instigate their physical relationship; that would be ideal, but he was willing to be flexible.

No, tonight would be about breaking down other barriers; the emotional ones that would shield her deepest secrets from him. The thought brought a smile to his face.

 _This was going to be good._

Checking the clock, he realized he only had an hour before he had told her to come back.

 _Fuck. Where did the day go?_

It was a Saturday, which meant no one else had been in the office today except him; going in had been a necessary evil since he'd taken time off for the audition and then left early yesterday to meet her here.

 _People think when you are the boss, it's easy to just take time for yourself with no consequences. How he fucking wished that was true._

Especially right now. He'd had to cut back his hours in the office preparing for their last exhibit; he hadn't been prepared to lose even more time for this competition – which he wouldn't have had to, if Pierce hadn't lost his goddamn portrait.

It was such a shitty time right now, too. Well, not shitty just busy. His company, Black Box, was looking to buy out Vanguard. It was a giant move and there was a lot of red tape to cut through, a lot of negotiating to take place. Most of it, he wasn't directly involved with, but as the owner, he still had to know every move that was being made, he had to make sure his people knew where they could compromise and where they couldn't. There was a lot involved for him, and then on top of that, he was trying to use his resources and connections to learn more about Jack Carter. He'd put out some feelers today, so he'd have to wait and see what they came back with, but, he wasn't going to take any chances. He needed a plan B just in case this attempt with Ellie didn't work out.

Chugging down the rest of the water, he went into the bathroom to shower and change before she arrived.

He was going to take her to Marea for dinner; it was right near his apartment and right by the park. He had personally called them this morning for a reservation which was probably the only reason that they got one because it was normally over a month's wait for a table there on a Saturday night.

Washing quickly, he threw on a navy suit and tie, roughly combing through his hair just as he heard a soft knock on the front door.

 _Shit. Was it six o'clock already?_

Tossing the comb down on the bathroom counter, he headed for the door to his apartment, trying to ignore the electric excitement burning into his cells.

 _You almost blew your shot yesterday; don't fuck this up, again._

"Good evening, Ellie," his deep, warm voice melted over her as he opened the door.

"Good evening, Tristan," she replied softly, a hint of pink staining her cheeks, probably at the memory of what had happened between the two of them the day before.

As she walked into the apartment, Tristan took in the sight of her.

 _Fuck, she was hot._

She'd chosen to wear a navy-blue dress, fitted, but not too short, with long, lace sleeves and a modest neckline. She wore simple white pumps that brought her not quite up to eye-level with him. Her outfit was nice, but not enticing by any of his previous standards. On anyone else, it would have looked too prim and proper for him to be interested; on Ellie, it was beyond sexy. Especially knowing that what was beneath it would be his.

The color of the dress set off her vibrant hair, the blue contrasting with her loose, red waves. Even though the dress wasn't short or low-cut, the way that it clung to every curve made it a struggle for him to keep his mouth from dropping open.

"Brave enough to return, I see," he said, his voice hoarse, his mouth feeling like a desert as he looked at the only drink of water in sight. That made her blush deepen, her eyes breaking from his for a moment.

"You can't get rid of me that easily," she replied, teasing him back with a small smile.

"I didn't think that I would," he confessed, his eyes darkening as he continued to feast on the sight of her.

 _God, all he wanted to do was sit her up on his dining table again and have his way with her._

That couldn't happen yet. She was brave to come back, but she wasn't stupid. She would run if he went that far, even though he could see how much she wanted him in return. She bit her lip underneath his gaze, the outline of her erect nipples just visible through the fabric, and the way that she stood there with her legs crossed to ease…

Tristan tore his eyes away from her as the thought that threatened to undo him, walking back to the kitchen counter to collect himself and his wallet, phone, and keys. His jaw clenched in the attempt to reign in his desire and ignore the painfully hard erection he had straining against his far-too-tight suit pants. Picking up his stuff, he turned back to the temptress who was watching him with innocence and eagerness in her eyes.

 _Stay focused, Tristan. Remember, letting yourself get in too deep means losing a whole lot more than just your control; it means losing to Jack, losing to Pierce, losing your mom, and eventually, losing yourself._

"Alright, let's go," he clipped out, his cold and rational mind dampening the desire that had come to life inside of him.

"Where are we going?" she asked curiously as they walked back out of the apartment.

"Marea."

"Wait, what? Really? I thought it was impossible to get into that place."

"Not if you're me," he quipped as they got in the elevator that blessedly contained another couple leaving for the night.

They arrived fifteen minutes early for their reservation, but it didn't matter; they were seated immediately after he checked in with the hostess.

 _You don't keep a billionaire waiting._

"Good evening and welcome to Marea," the waitress began, "can I offer you still or sparkling water?" He didn't have to look at the woman to know that she was trying to hit on him. She had only looked at him when she spoke, her voice deepening subtly with the question.

 _Great._

Thankfully, it didn't look like Ellie had even noticed, her wide eyes still taking in the surroundings of the restaurant, the other guests, and the view.

"Still, please, and a bottle of the Chablis Chardonnay," Tristan responded coolly, his eyes never leaving Ellie, hoping that the waitress would take a hint.

He just sat there and watched Ellie take in her surroundings, still completely oblivious to what had passed between him and the waitress, or the fact that he was abjectly staring at her.

She was exquisite. Looking at her closely, it seemed like she had attempted to put a little bit of makeup on, but hardly enough to really be noticeable. Her porcelain face and bright green eyes, were enticingly framed by the wild red flame of her hair. Her long, slender neck dropping off to her shoulder that were just covered by the lace of her dress.

 _God, how he wanted to kiss her neck._

He tried to focus on revenge but the thought of the velvety soft skin of her neck underneath his lips, letting him feel her heartbeat as he made her pulse race.

That moment brought her eyes back to his, her face flushing slightly when she realized that she'd been ignoring him.

"I'm sorry for being rude. I've just heard so many good things about this place; I can't believe I'm here," she gushed with astonished gratitude. "Thank you."

Tristan nodded in response, watching the emotions play over her features.

When he didn't respond, Ellie bit on her bottom lip, her color heightening as though she was going to say something, but was almost too shy to. Instead, looking down at the menu in front of her to decide on what she wanted.

The waitress returned a few moments later to deliver their water and wine and take their order. Ellie looked up at the waitress in confusion when the glass of wine was set down in front of her.

"The Chardonnay…" the waitress said. Her tone implied that ' _you idiot'_ was added on to the end of the phrase in her head.

"Oh, ok," Ellie quickly responded, sheepishly, "thank you."

When the waitress turned to set Tristan's glass down, she tried to catch his eyes with her sultry smile, caressing the wine glass as she slowly released it onto the tabletop. Tristan just nodded curtly in her direction, his gaze still focused on Ellie.

"What would you like?" he asked, since it seemed like the waitress was just too distracted to do her damn job.

"I…I don't even know. What should I get?" she asked hesitantly, her eyes frantically scanning the menu, embarrassed, knowing that she was holding them up.

"Ok," Tristan began, taking charge, if for no other reason than the waitress' blatant attempts to flirt with him were really annoying. "We'll start with the White Stone oysters and then we will share the Branzino with a side of fingerling potatoes and Brussel sprouts."

 _We'll also take a new waitress, please._

He wasn't going to go that far, at least not right now. Especially since Ellie didn't seem to see the woman's flirtation or the frustration that it was causing him.

"Of course," she replied with what was meant to be an enticing smile, "can I get _you_ anything else?"

"No," Tristan replied flatly, giving the waitress his most stone-cold stare, trying to get her through her thick skull that he was definitely not interested. Thankfully, she took their menus and left without forcing him to create a scene.

"The Branzino is excellent; you'll really enjoy it," Tristan spoke, realizing that Ellie was still staring at him with wide eyes. "I hope you don't mind that I ordered for you," he added as an afterthought.

"No, of course it's ok," she said quickly, not wanting him to get the wrong idea. "I mean, I'm sure you've been here a bunch of times. I trust that you know what is good on the menu. I just hardly got a chance to look at it and everything looked so good, probably because I'm hungry…"

Tristan grabbed his wine glass, raising it to her in a toast, only partially to stop her nervous ramblings.

"Cheers – to not being controlled," Tristan toasted cryptically, sure that she would take it to mean not letting her be controlled by her past. For him, however, it was to mark the start of his revenge against her father's attempt to control him.

Tristan watched as Ellie awkwardly picked up her wine glass and gently tapped the rim to his.

"Cheers," she said softly.

He didn't close his eyes while taking a sip of the wine; he couldn't. He watched intently as Ellie hesitantly brought the glass to her lips, as if she were about to set it down without taking a sip until she realized that he was watching her. Eyes fluttering shut, she gently tipped the liquid to her intoxicating mouth. She took the tiniest sip of the wine – if she had even taken a sip, it was hard to tell. His brows furrowed for a moment in curiosity. Not that he cared if she didn't drink, but why she didn't drink intrigued him. He'd assumed that the personality she was trying not to be would have been the sober side, that the 'new' Ellie would be more than eager to let the wine relax her, but that didn't seem to be the case.

 _Maybe she was afraid it would make it too easy for her to be taken advantage of._

But, if she was concerned about that, she never would have come back after yesterday. No, there was another reason that he had a feeling didn't have anything to do with him.

 _Very interesting._

As if she heard his thoughts, or just saw the look of intrigue on his face, she quickly set her glass down and began to talk before he could ask her about it.

"So, I auditioned to be a portrait model," she began hesitantly, "yet, I've met with you two times now, and neither time have I seen any sort of artistic anything. I'm beginning to wonder what this really entails or if you are even an artist at all…"

Her last statement was a poke at him, and he responded to her coy smile with a laugh. "Touché. Trust me, Ellie, there will be plenty of time spent working on the piece, but this is all part of the process," he explained. "My work has a certain standard, and to meet that I have a certain set of steps that I follow to make sure that when I do sit down to sketch you, what results is the best quality."

Ellie raised her eyebrow at him skeptically.

 _The little minx didn't believe him._ The thought had him laughing again. God, she was a piece of work, and one that was staring at him with even more confusion caused by his random laughter.

"When you came over tonight, if I had asked you to sit there and let me sketch you, what would you have done?" he asked.

"I would have done what you asked," she said bluntly, as if the question was too easy to justify an answer, "I signed the contract, I remember what it said."

 _She thinks I'm wondering if she remembers what she signed up for._ Tristan smiled.

"And how would you have felt?" he continued.

"What do you mean? I…I don't know. I've never done this before. I'm sure I would have felt…fine?" she replied, genuinely unsure now what he was after.

"Something you've never done before, something that you said is out-of-the-box for you, and you think you would have felt 'fine'?"

"I guess. I don't know," she paused, biting that delectable lower lip again. "I guess I probably would have felt awkward for a little, until I get used to how this all works."

"Understandable, but that is exactly my point," Tristan began to clarify, just as their appetizers were placed on the table in front of them. "I don't want to capture you as being awkward, and right now, that is all you would be."

"You may have picked the wrong girl then because I can guarantee you, ninety-nine percent of the time, I am just awkward," Ellie replied, laughing at what she perceived was the sad truth about herself.

Tristan's eyes darkened at her self-inflicted insult, her gaze breaking away to reach in to try one of the oysters.

Yes, she was awkward, but his mind thought of a thousand other things to describe her before that: gorgeous, enticing, daring, reflective, defiant, innocent, sexy… the adjectives before awkward were innumerable. Not to mention, her moments of awkwardness were endearing to him; they, for some odd reason, made him even more attracted to her.

 _Fuck._ He didn't know why he was so concerned with what she thought of herself; what was it to him if she thought she was awkward and undesirable? But, for some reason, all his attempts to rationalize letting her beliefs alone failed; they failed miserably.

"Trust me, Ellie, awkward is not the first thing that I see when I look at you," he replied, his eyes deepening, turning completely golden with intense desire.


	10. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Her eyes widened at his husky tone. His words conveyed much, much more than simply syllables that they were. Tristan watched as the oyster shell tipped against her lips, allowing the meat to slip into her mouth and then down her throat; his teeth clenched together imagining a certain part of him slipping inside that warm mouth of hers.

 _Goddammit._

He'd been doing so well and now he was as hard as a rock, about to eat what most would consider an aphrodisiac; this was going to be interesting.

 _Had he ordered them on purpose because of that?_

Christ, even his subconscious seemed to be working against him, he thought in frustration as he picked up one of the offending morsels and let the slick oyster slide into his mouth.

"These are incredible," Ellie gushed, her face still red from his seductive compliment as she tried to steer the conversation back to a safer topic.

"Have you ever had oysters before?" he asked, entranced by her reaction to the food.

"No, I haven't…" she trailed off, taking another oyster off of the plate to enjoy. She hoped that her face wouldn't give her away. First, with the wine, and now this. She hadn't been a big drinker even before the cancer treatment started and now, she'd been away from it so long she didn't even know how her body would respond which is why she basically faked the sip from the glass.

The oysters though, those had been a big no-no with the chemotherapy, along with sushi, beef, deli meats, soft cheeses or anything else that was raw, uncooked, or unpasteurized – _or delicious_ ; the oysters ran the risk of being infected with Hep A, which is why she had never had them. Thankfully, eating oysters wasn't a terribly common thing so she was sure he didn't think twice about her negative answer.

The wine though… she saw his look and knew that he was wondering if she faked it; she'd been so surprised by the toast that she hadn't had time to think. If she had heard him order the wine, she would have said something then – that she didn't drink or that it made her sick; something more believable that not-very-effectively faking it.

"Well, this was a good place to start; they are excellent here," Tristan informed her as she took the last oyster, nodding her head in agreement.

Tristan's gaze narrowed slightly on her as she finished it and took a sip of her water. She hadn't touched her Chardonnay since she set her glass down the first time. Taking a sip of his wine, he collected his thoughts for a moment before redirecting the conversation.

"What do you think of the wine?" he asked, watching the color spread through her cheeks.

"It's good," she replied, softly, picking up the glass again and taking another very small sip. He didn't respond. His silence suggested that he knew that that was a lie; his eyes suggesting that she either tell him the truth or accept the consequences. "Honestly," she sighed in defeat, quickly deciding which reason to give him, "I haven't had alcohol in a while, I'm just not used to it anymore; I'm sorry." She had plenty of other personal facts that she wanted to keep well hidden, there was no point in trying to conceal this one; she had to pick her battles.

"Don't apologize," Tristan said sternly, as he pushed his glass of wine to the side of the table, "you don't have to finish it. I just thought it might help you relax and the chardonnay is really excellent with the fish."

"No, please, you can drink yours, I didn't mean to…" she stopped herself from rambling, trying to continue with a single coherent thought, "Please, I'd hate for you to not finish yours. It is very good and I'm going to drink some. It used to make me sick, so I've stayed away from it the past few years is all. I just don't want to overdo it."

Tristan placed his hand on his wine glass, spinning the stem slowly between his fingers, watching her intently as she spoke. As an artist, he was trained to stare at people for extended amounts of time, to watch and notice every slight movement or alteration that could affect the final product. Consequently, he was very good at reading people when they spoke to him, hearing their words, but also their conscious and unconscious body movements which allowed him to read between the lines.

He heard what she said - he heard her reasoning and it was the truth, but there was something about the way that she said it that told him it wasn't the whole truth. There was the barest hint of sadness in her tone, something that she was trying to hide.

 _But, it was the truth. He'd push her for the whole truth later. Without the alcohol, he was going to have to take this a little slower in order to make sure she remained comfortable with him._

The annoying flirtatious waitress returned with their meal; the large plate of fish placed in the center of the table, along with the sides, and sharing plates given to each of them.

"Please, let me know how you like it," the waitress half whispered to him –another double-entendre for him to try to ignore.

"So, tell me about yourself, Elsa," Tristan requested as he took the liberty of dividing up the fish, starch, and vegetables onto each of their plates, serving Ellie first.

She seemed taken aback for a second, as though she wasn't expecting the change in topic, much less for the change to redirect to her. He watched her stay silent for a moment before cutting off a piece of the Branzino and tasting it. Her eyes closed as he knew the fish would be melting in her mouth – it was that good. Suddenly, his mouth was watering for what was in front of him, and it wasn't the food. Watching her try the oysters and then fish was mesmerizing. The subtle expressions of enjoyment that played over her face were something to be exalted; she looked like she was trying to memorize every flavor and every texture as though she might never be able to taste these things again.

Finishing the bite, her eyes peeled back open to catch his. "That is…" she began, "I can't even describe it; it's like candy."

He smiled at her description, knowing that she would enjoy it. He watched with gratification as she picked up her forgotten wineglass and took another sip – a real one, this time.

 _She's avoiding your question, Tristan._

When she met his eyes again, she met the same stare that he had given her before. The one that said ' _don't make me ask again.'_

"What do you want to know?" she asked, putting another bite of fish into her mouth.

"Everything," he replied blatantly, watching her eyes widen at the seriousness of his tone. "I guess why don't you start with what you do, besides modeling of course," he continued with a grin.

"Why would you assume I do anything else?" she retorted in mock offense, drawing a laugh from both of them.

"Well played. You are right, I make no assumptions," he laughed, raising his hands in defeat.

"Well, I actually don't do anything else at the moment. The whole change of pace thing… I left my last job and I just started looking for something new when I saw the ad for this audition," Ellie continued, biting her lip. _He didn't need to know about the few years that had lapsed between her last job and now,_ she thought.

"I see. So, why did you leave your last job?" Tristan pried.

"Well, I was only working with my father," she began with a small laugh, as if that would explain everything, "but, I just felt like I needed a change."

Tristan's whole face darkened at the mention of Jack Carter; he hadn't expected the man to be brought up so early in their conversations, but he wouldn't complain. The mention of Ellie's father and the opportunity to press her about him and her relationship with him completely distracted Tristan from the fact that she had only superficially answered his question.

"And what does your father do?" Tristan asked, his curiosity betraying him.

"He's part owner at Carter and Young, the accounting firm," she explained. Tristan missed the subtle sense of relief that had entered her tone when she realized he wasn't going to press her about why she needed a change.

"So, you're an accountant? I can't imagine having to work with my father."

 _Or yours._

Tristan and his father used to get along, before they found out that Viola had cancer; that changed everything. His father had been distant, pulling away from everyone and everything except his sick wife. When she died, they'd both been devastated; Tristan had looked to his father for love and comfort, but found none as the man was too lost in his grief. Without Viola, it was like Tristan didn't even matter and so, the rift between them was cemented.

Tristan lost himself in his work, finding less and less time to go back home to try see his dad or even talk to him. It was one of the other reasons he was here, besides their most recent exhibit; his dad was getting older and Tristan wanted to try to salvage some part of their relationship before there was no time left. The start of which was going to be when he gave his dad the portrait of his mother.

 _Which he could no longer do because of Jack Carter._

Tristan felt the familiar burn of rage streaming through his veins. His eyes narrow on Ellie and for a second, he tried to allow that rage to incinerate all of his need for her and replace it with only his desire for revenge; he'd like to think that the revenge had won out, which is why he completely ignored the nagging feeling in his chest that suggested that it hadn't. The second passed and he quickly reigned in his vengeful emotions before they could betray him and scare her away, his face returning to that of an interested and intrigued date.

"It wasn't so bad," she replied with a joking smile, looking up from her plate just as the anger was wiped from Tristan's face. "No, really, my dad is great and working for him was a lot of fun, spending that time together; he's always been there for me, helping me and supporting me and it was no different when I started to work for him."

Tristan felt his fist clench around his fork at the praises Ellie was heaping on her conniving ass of a father, not to mention the warm and loving smile the thought of him brought to her face.

"And no, I wasn't an accountant. My degree is just in Business, so I was the assistant to the operations manager for the firm helping with overall business management and internal procedures and protocols," Ellie continued to clarify.

"So then why did you leave?" Tristan probed.

"Well…" she paused, some color returning to her cheeks, "I just realized that I wanted to do something on my own, not that I didn't enjoy working there, but I was more involved with the rules and regulations and less in a consulting capacity, which is what I enjoy." Here, she paused again, as if there was more to the phrase than just the work aspect. "I wanted a change of pace, to do something that had more freedom, less rigidity. So, it had nothing to do with my dad; he'd be happy for me no matter what I choose to do. I think the only thing that he was mad about, although it was more like sad, was that he wouldn't get to see me every day, but he wants me to be happy," she concluded, a small smile spreading over her face, accompanying the look of love that was almost enough to make him break.

"I see," his response coming out colder than he intended.

Ellie's brow furrow slightly at his tone as she reached again for her wine glass that she'd managed to have a solid half of.

"So, you're very close with your father." It wasn't as much of a question to her as it was a statement to himself that there was a good relationship between the two of them, and that his plan to retrieve his drawing was going to hurt Ellie two-fold – first by destroying her feelings for him, and then by hurting her father.

"Yes, very," her response again accompanied by a smile, "are you?"

"No," he replied flatly, hating the way that her face lit up when she talked about her dad. Hating it because it was Jack Carter or hating it because he wanted her to light up that way about him, he couldn't be sure.

"I'm sorry," she said, empathetically.

"Don't be. It's not your fault, we're just very different people and it's always been hard for us to get along," he explained.

"So, you don't really talk to him?"

"No, not since my mother died; she kept us both in check, without her, everything kind of just fell apart and neither of us had the will to piece it back together," Tristan offered, stopping himself abruptly to wonder why he'd felt the need to reveal all of this to her.

Sure, it would make her feel more comfortable, but there were a thousand other ways to go about that other than revealing his family turmoil. Thankfully, before he blithely revealed more personal details about his life, their waitress reappeared to see if they wanted dessert. Both too full for any more food, Tristan declined and asked for the check. She set the bill on the table, thanking them for coming in tonight. He tried not to flinch when she had the audacity to put her hand on his shoulder as she said that she looked forward to seeing them again soon.

Taking the bill, he paid in cash just to not have to deal with their waitress again.

"Ready?" he asked, standing up.

"Sure," Ellie replied, following his lead.

Once outside, Tristan took them to a nearby coffee shop to get some hot chocolate, suggesting walk back to his apartment building.

"Does that happen a lot?" Ellie blurted out, as they began to walk.

"What?"

"Women, throwing themselves at you," Ellie replied, biting her lip on an amused smile.

"Ahh," Tristan sighed, "I'd hoped she hadn't been that disgustingly obvious, otherwise I would have requested a new server." She gave a small nod, waiting for him to answer her question. "I don't know what 'a lot' would be, but I would say that it happens more than I would like."

"I see," she murmured.

Tristan waited, let the silence sit between them, kind of enjoying letting Ellie take control of the conversation, knowing that she felt some sort of comfort level to do so; it seemed like the small amount of wine she had was taking effect.

"So, what did you learn?"

"About what?"

"About me. Did you learn enough to start the piece?" She looked up at him expectantly.

Tristan laughed. "I don't think it works quite how you are thinking, but I might start a few preliminary sketches tonight," he began, taking a sip of the hot cocoa, "I learned that you are very perceptive, even when I think you aren't paying attention."

He watched Ellie smile at his reference to her previous question about the waitress. "I learned that you are very close to your father, and from the way that you talk about him and think about him, that you must mean very much to him, too. You used to be a fan of rules and order, and part of you still is, but another part of you is trying to silence it. You are adventurous, trying oysters for the first time without hesitation. You care about not disappointing others, like when you faked your first sip of wine when it was brought to us," he revealed with another laugh.

A blush stole into her cheeks when she heard that he knew. "I'm sorry… I didn't realize, but it really was good. I did drink almost half the glass!" she insisted, laughing at herself.

"You aren't afraid to laugh at yourself," he added in, just as they stopped in front of his building.

"Is that all?" she teased him, surprised by all of the things he'd listed already.

Tristan stepped closer to her, towering slightly over her, again impressed and encouraged when she didn't step back from him. He relished when his movement caused her lips to part slightly, pupils dilating with desire at their now very close proximity.

"You seem to have a very low opinion of yourself and how others see you, especially when it comes to your looks and behavior, writing yourself off as awkward," he finished, his tone changing to something more serious.

"And how do you see me?" she whispered back bravely, her glassy green eyes turning up to his, shining with curiosity and longing.

 _God, how he wanted her when she looked like this – innocent and craving him._

"You are exquisite," he replied softly, his free hand coming up to rest underneath her chin, "you are exquisite..."

He trailed off, his lips inches from hers, their breaths mingling in front of them. His gaze hungry for her, hers expectantly waiting for the eminent kiss as she swayed into him; the potent combination of alcohol and desire intoxicating her and entrancing him.

Tristan wanted to pull away, to not give in again so soon, but suddenly, everything around them faded into the distance – the buildings, the traffic, the people walking by; there was only the two of them and he wanted nothing more than to set her desire free, to be the one to encourage and explore her passion that was just aching to break through.

 _Fuck._

There was no stopping it; he needed to taste her again.

His lips touched hers, ever so softly at first; the relief of not holding himself back any longer when she was right in front of him was immeasurable. The moment of relief quickly passed as the contact sent fire scorching through his veins, his body immediately erect and on edge with need. When he felt the sigh that escaped her silky, soft lips, the last vestiges of his restraint broke.

Slanting his lips over hers, his hand now cupped the side of her face and drew her even closer to him. His tongue played over the seal between her lips for a moment before the soft barriers gave way to the treasured depths of her mouth. He groaned, the sweet warmth of her mouth accentuated by the hot chocolate that she'd just been drinking.

He teased her tongue, drawing it out and encouraging her to explore. Need shot straight to his groin when he felt the hesitant touch of her tongue enter his mouth to toy with his. He moved closer to her, wishing he wasn't still holding the damn hot chocolate so he could pull her flush against him. In his frustration, he pulled her lower lip into his mouth, gently biting down and sucking on the tender skin causing a moan to escape from her parted lips.

"Tristan…" Ellie moaned as he released her lip. The sound of her voice, breaking through the barrier that had been surrounding them. The noises and movements of their surroundings flooded back into his brain, reminding him that he was standing outside his apartment building, where anyone could see them.

With a tortured groan, he stepped back from her, dropping his hand, and putting a respectable foot and a half between them.

"Are we going back upstairs?" Ellie asked breathlessly, her face flushed with desire and anticipation.

"No," Tristan answered hoarsely, "I'm trying to maintain the shred of gentlemanliness that I have left. There's a car waiting for you to take you home." He nodded in the direction of a black sedan waiting at the edge of the sidewalk.

"Oh…Of course," she replied softly, her eyes still dazed from the kiss but now slightly dejected that their time together for the evening was over. "So, what is next?"

"I have meetings all day on Monday, so come here at six on Tuesday and we'll get started," he said calmly, "and wear something comfortable."

Ellie nodded at his instructions before turning towards the car.

"Good night, Ellie," Tristan said, his voice still deep and hoarse from wanting her.

"Good night, Tristan. Thank you for dinner. And for your gentlemanliness," she teased softly as she turned, letting her hips sway as she walked towards the curb, purposefully taunting him to be the devil he desperately wanted to be.

He forced himself to turn and walk inside his building before he gave in and hauled her over his shoulder to have his way with her. He checked to make sure that she had gotten into the car before heading upstairs for a long cold shower. He could have kicked himself when she asked if they were going back up to his apartment.

 _He wanted nothing more, but that wouldn't have been good in the long run. No, he needed to control his lust for now, as well as hers, apparently – Christ, he hadn't expected to want her so much._


	11. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Tristan thought that taking those few days away from her would give him time to cool down and restructure his defenses; maybe it had to some degree when compared to seeing her every day, which is what his body desperately craved. But thinking that this would completely free his thoughts and desire from her had been unequivocally wrong. Ellie had lingered on his mind almost every moment as if she were standing right in front of him. He'd spent hours over the rest of the weekend sketching her face, her infinite expressions that he found himself remembering.

 _The look of awe when she realized they were eating at Marea. The look of embarrassment that she got every time she realized she was nervously rambling. The look of delight when she tried the oysters and the Branzino. The look of adoration when she had spoken of her father. The look of sympathy when she realized that he no longer spoke to his._

Most vividly, the look of intense desire and longing for _him_ when he kissed her. Needless to say, he'd taken a lot of cold showers over the past few days.

It was hard when he didn't have very many other distractions, or at least ones that he wanted to indulge in. He'd stopped answering Pierce's phone calls for the time being, not trusting himself to stay calm and not do something he would regret. He'd even avoided Morgan, keeping their conversations brief and to other topics; he trusted Morgan, but the less he knew, the better.

He'd even tried tempering his thoughts of her by trying to constantly remind himself that she was Jack Carter's daughter; that she loved and adored her father, the man who was blackmailing him. He'd replayed his conversation with Jack over and over again to tone down his desire to please her, to build her up to the point where she would look at him with that same expression of adoration. That had been the most successful. When he thought about Jack Carter, it put his desire for her in perspective. She was only a means to an end and he couldn't make her want him without her feeling the same – a thought that helped him sleep at night, convinced that he wasn't betraying himself by actually having feelings for her.

Monday had rolled around and been filled with meetings over the Vanguard situation, which kept his mind a safe distance from Ellie – a safe distance that probably had let his need grow unchecked into today, when he hadn't been able to focus on anything in the office with the thought of seeing her tonight.

 _Seeing her soon._

Tristan squinted to check the clock on his microwave again. He'd never sketched from his apartment before, but for some reason it didn't seem right to take her to the studio he'd been renting for their last exhibit. He told himself that it was mostly because he was sure Pierce was making it a point to swing by there every so often with the hopes of dropping in on Tristan while he was working. Well, that, and the fact that the studio was covered in preliminary drafts of the piece that 'Titian' was supposed to have auctioned off, as well as a few other sketches from previous exhibits and some initial attempts at a Da Vinci piece that he was to begin restoring next month. Even if she didn't know about the Guild, he didn't want to open the door for the questions that were sure to be asked.

He'd stopped at the studio though, to grab a pad of newsprint sketch paper and some charcoal paper, his set of charcoals, and an easel; he normally only had a sketchbook and pencils stashed in his apartment. He'd been trying with only marginal success to turn the small office in his apartment, off of the living room in the opposite direction from the kitchen, into a makeshift studio. Until about halfway through when he realized how shitty the lighting was in the small room, especially as the sun began to set.

 _Guess we're doing this in the living room._

He laughed to himself about what she must think of him. Sure, the audition seemed legit, but since then, all he'd done was kiss her and take her on a date; she only knew him as Tristan Black, she had no reference for the type of art that he did, or that he was a legitimate artist; he could not be an artist at all and just trying to seduce her for all she knew about him.

 _Tonight, she would know that this wasn't a ruse – well, at least not that kind. She would see that he was actually an artist, that he actually had talent._

Setting his sketchbook on the coffee table in the living room, he left it open to the beginning of the sketches that he'd done of her, of her expressions that he'd witnessed over the past few days.

 _And some that might have come to him in his dreams._

"Ellie," he addressed her huskily, opening his door.

"Tristan," she replied warmly and a little more confidently than the last time that they'd stood in these same spots. Her flame-colored hair flickered in the natural light from the windows as she walked into his apartment, the setting sun accentuating its vibrant color.

 _It made him want to paint her instead, to capture the vivacity that was intrinsic to her personality._

"How was the rest of your weekend?" he began, admiring the way the simple light blue, long-sleeve t-shirt and fitted jeans molded to her form.

"Good," she smiled, "Uneventful. I spent some time with my dad, told him I was having a portrait done."

"You did?" his voice had hardened at the mention of her father, like a bucket of ice water dousing over him.

"Yes… I ahh… I mean," Ellie stuttered, her face turning beet red, "I didn't tell him anything specific. I remember what the contract said; I didn't mention you or anything like that."

It took him a second to realize that his tone made her think she had broken one of the rules of the contract, when the reality was that the thought of her father extinguished the warmer feelings he'd been having.

"Of course, it's fine," Tristan recovered quickly, plastering an appeasing smile on his face. "Can I get you something to drink? Water? Tea? I also have an excellent Pinot Grigio, but I don't want you to try to take advantage of me again."

His joke distracted her, bringing a smile back to her face as the momentary tension was forgotten. He, on the other hand, seethed inside at the mention of Jack's name, knowing the man had probably sat smugly by, hearing his daughter talk about what she had accomplished and knowing that it was all because of him.

 _He couldn't wait for Ellie to find out that her father had planned this whole thing. If crushing his daughter didn't break him, having her resent him in the process surely would._

"I think I'll just have water, thank you," she replied with a small laugh, watching as he walked into the kitchen to get her a glass. No, she definitely couldn't do wine tonight. She hadn't done too poorly after Saturday night, surprisingly. Yesterday, she'd checked in with her oncologist, Dr. Sion, since she knew that Tristan wouldn't be calling her. She had been feeling under the weather the past few weeks and with her track record, it was better to be safe than sorry. Dr. Sion said that she could just be fighting off an infection, gave her an antibiotic to take and scheduled her to come back in 2 weeks for some bloodwork to make sure things were normal. She was trying not to think too much about it, and as difficult as that was, somehow her thoughts kept drifting miraculously back to Tristan and their kiss.

 _Thinking about kisses was definitely better than thinking about cancer._

Ellie took a seat on the couch, noticing the sketchbook he'd left out for her to see. She stared in awe at the drawings… _at herself._ They were incredible. Even though they weren't very detailed, somehow the lines that were there conveyed her emotions so acutely, that she was brought back to the moments when she had felt them.

Tristan set the glass down on the table in front of her, a satisfied smile on his face as he saw her expression of wonder and sincere admiration at his work. The noise of the glass touching down on the table brought her out of the trance she'd been in, paging through the sketches, and stopped her right before she reached the expressions that he'd only imagined she'd made.

"These are incredible," she said breathlessly, looking up at him in awe, "you did an amazing job; I can't even believe that these are of me…"

"Thank you," he replied coolly, trying not to laugh at the surprise in her voice, "why would you say that? That is what you auditioned for, for them to be of you."

"I know, but I just never thought that I could look like this…"

"Like what?"

"I never thought that I could look so moving, so expressive, so beautiful," she said with a small, astonished laugh. "My brain is still having trouble believe that these are truly of me, even though it's obvious that they are."

"It's not that you _can_ look like this, Ellie, you _do_ look like this," he said huskily, his eyes turning to liquid gold as he looked at her, their intensity conveying the veracity of his statement.

It was her low, undeserving opinion of herself that always caught him off-guard; he couldn't understand it. She was beautiful, how could she not see that? And yet, somehow, she didn't. Even though he could kick himself every time he let something slip like that; those compliments came from a place that held too much meaning for him, that made him feel things that he shouldn't be feeling.

A soft pink blush stole over her cheeks, her eyes clouding to a misty green as they absorbed and responded to his lustful gaze.

"Maybe," she replied with a smirk, even though her blush told him that his words had aroused her, she was unable to completely agree with him. "They are really phenomenal though; you are an excellent artist." Her gaze returned to the drawings, running her fingertips over the lines. Tristan's body stiffened as he imagined those fingertips running over him, over his hard, muscular lines. His erection now throbbing painfully, especially after having been denied her presence for the past few days. Tristan sat down on the neighboring couch corner, trying to alleviate, _and disguise_ , his current condition.

"Thank you, I figured you might start to wonder," he joked, flashing her smile.

"I told you that the thought had crossed my mind," she played right back. "Really though, what made you go into business with talent like this? I mean, with the quality of work like this, I can't imagine you not being successful at it. Although, you've obviously been very successful in business as well…"

She trailed off as her eyes met his amused ones, realizing that she was rambling instead of just letting him answer.

"Sorry," she mumbled, sheepishly.

"I'm sure I would be very popular if I promoted myself as an artist," he began, ducking his head, unable to stop the smile that crossed his face knowing that he already was, "but I never wanted to need to produce art to survive. Art is very personal, not just because of the emotions that it captures of its subjects' but because of the emotions that it requires of the artist. I never wanted that to be controlled by either money or other people, which is why my art is only a hobby – whether it's for private auctions or exhibitions, it's never about making a profit."

"So, you actually show your work places?" she asked, innocently.

"Sometimes," he answered carefully.

"I would love to see them. I mean, the other pieces that you've done, other than the ones of me. So, you don't make anything when one of your pieces gets auctioned?" she asked, her hand coming to rest over her face in the last sketch before the ones showing his fantasies of her.

"It depends. If I do, I donate the proceeds to art programs or charity," he replied, then realizing that their entire conversation so far had been about him, and that wasn't ok. "Enough about me though, I want to know what you are looking for."

Her brows furrowed at his change of subject.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you left your job with your father because you wanted a change of pace, but doing what? I don't believe that modeling is your top choice," he quipped as his eyes traveled down the length of her again, knowing she could be a phenomenal model. Although his gut clenched at the thought of the rest of the world, or anyone else for that matter, admiring her body.

"Oh… well, I'm not entirely sure. I've been researching some options. I would love to work somewhere that I could travel the world while consulting for different businesses; I think that would be incredible," she mused. Tristan watched the wistful expression pass over and light her face at the thought of seeing the world. "I've never been out of the country; I've never done a lot of things. You know, I've lived in the city my whole life and I've never even been to a show on Broadway," she laughed at her admission, but the sadness behind it was unmistakable.

"Why not?" Tristan asked.

 _Traveling was one thing, but to have never seen a show on Broadway when you live in the city, and when your ass of a father is the part owner of a well-known accounting firm, there didn't seem to be an understandable reason for that to be true._

He watched as her eyes broke from his, her head ducking as if she realized that she had said too much. Well, not too much, but something that she wasn't willing to then reveal her reason for.

"Well, I just…Oh my God," she whispered as her eyes caught sight of the vibrant sunset that was perfectly visible through the windows in his apartment.

 _She was hiding something._

Her astonishment at the sunset was real, there was no doubt, but she'd been searching for a distraction, something so that she could avoid answering. Tristan watched as Ellie stood and walked over to the windows, drawn in by the beauty of the scene before her.

 _Just like he was._

"To be able to see this every night," she began in awe, "must be incredible."

"What's on the other side of the glass is incredible, but it's nothing compared to what I see on this side of it," he replied seductively, admiring her as she stood of the warm glow of the setting sun. She glanced over her shoulder at him, her lips parted slightly as she tried to figure out how to respond. "I'm usually not home in time for sunset, but this does make me wish that I was," he continued with a half-smile, saving Ellie the trouble of trying to find a response.

' _This' being her reaction to it._

He really needed to stop wanting her here so badly, but she was like a siren, calling to him with her awkwardly attractive and innocent song, pulling him in deeper and closer to her no matter how hard or rationally he tried to fight it. Staring at her from behind, he groaned softly at the way her shirt framed her lithe body, her jeans molding to her ass and thighs.

 _How she could not see herself as fucking gorgeous was beyond him._

His groan must have startled her, because she turned around and made her way back towards the couch. Bending down, she picked up the sketchbook again, flipping to the next page before Tristan had a chance to stop her; he'd wanted to finish their current conversation, but that wasn't going to happen now.

Tristan watched as her mouth dropped open seeing the sketches she'd just revealed. They were her alright, they just happened to be her in the throes of passion, which was how he typically saw her in his dreams – her luscious red hair tumbling over her fair, creamy skin as Tristan pleasured her with his hands and mouth; her innocent eyes widening as she took in the erotic scenes he'd created.

"What are these?" she choked out, even though it was clear. There was no mistaking the expressions that he'd rendered; they were consumed with passion.

Her eyes looked down at him, not, as he had expected, with shock or horror at his presumption to draw her so, but with a potent mix of desire and curiosity; Ellie saw herself in the drawings like she had never seen herself before, experiencing emotions that she'd never felt before, and she wanted to know what caused them; she craved to be the woman in the images, to feel what she was feeling.

"They are how I see you," he replied, his voice coarse and deep with need, as he stood to tower over her, holding her gaze the entire time.

"When?"

"Whenever you're not here, whenever I close my eyes, whenever I sleep, whenever I think about you," he paused here with a breathless laugh, "so, all the time, Ellie, all the fucking time."

"I don't believe it," she said breathlessly, her eyes darting up to his for a split second, just long enough for him to see his same desire mirrored in her gaze.

"It doesn't matter what you believe; it's the truth," Tristan replied huskily, watching the play of shock and wonder over her face.

"What am I doing?" she whispered, staring down at the image as if she couldn't keep her eyes off of it, her fingers coming up to caress the image on the page.

"Letting me show you just how beautiful you are."

The gauntlet had been thrown. Ellie let the meaning of his words coarse through her blood, her pulse rising as goosebumps spread all over her body. They stood just inches from each other, separated only by the length of his sketchbook. Their desire for each other potently innervating the air surrounding them. Tristan watched her eyes stay trained on his drawing for a moment longer before she swallowed hard; he held his breath knowing that one of two things was about to happen.

 _And he prayed to fucking God it was the first._

"So, show me," she dared, her eyes raising in sharp defiance to return his smoldering gaze. Her words ignited their desire into a full-on conflagration.

Tristan pulled her to him, his lips crashing down on hers, as her hands released the sketchbook, letting it fall to the floor with a thud that neither of them heard. She wasn't hesitant this time, just like at the door tonight, she responded to his mouth confidently. She opened immediately for him, her tongue greeting his as they began their familiar dance.

His arms came around her, crushing her to him. His left hand tangled in her silken waves, angling her head for better access to her deliciously warm and sweet mouth. He groaned as his right hand slipped down over her lower back, coming to rest on the firm muscle of her ass, cupping the generous flesh and pulling her hips hard against his, relishing in her gasp as his impossibly hard erection pressed against her stomach through his jeans.

Tristan held her there for he didn't even know how long, drinking his fill of her, tasting every crevice in her mouth that had been tantalizing his thoughts all weekend. The sweet softness of her tongue delving into his mouth, returning his ministrations, and driving his need for her to painful levels.

 _This was incredible,_ Ellie thought. She'd never felt anything like this before Tristan, nothing so all-consuming. There was a current running through each cell in her body that heightened every sense, every touch making her heart beat faster, craving more. Her hands, originally planted firmly on his chest, had somehow made their way up to snake around his neck as she tried to press herself even closer to him. She felt the hard ridge of his erection pressing against her stomach, her hips shifting to try to rub closer to him to ease the ache growing between her thighs. Ellie couldn't think straight, her mind succumbing to the desire that burned through her looking for release. Now, she knew how it would be possible for her to make the expressions in the sketch; she knew that what Tristan was doing, the need he was building inside of her would bring her to that level of ecstasy. And she wanted that release, that freedom, more than anything.

 _He wasn't going to disappoint…_

As much as he was on edge of losing control, he could feel her response suggesting that she felt the same; the only difference being that he doubted she had much experience in the area of passion, much less controlling it. He felt her erratic breathing, he felt the small tantalizing and torturous movements she made, rubbing herself against him, begging him for more.

 _And she was going to get more… so much more. If he could stay in control._

With one hand still firmly anchoring her mouth to his, the other releasing her ass to travel up, finding its way underneath her t-shirt. He felt her shudder as his finger transitioned off of her jeans and onto the soft skin of her back, gently coming around her side, and up and over her stomach to rest for a moment along the edge of the underwire of her bra. His mouth broke from hers, planting small kisses up along her jawline to her ear. Here he paused to make sure that she wasn't going to pull away from him again, to make sure that what he was about to do next wouldn't send her into a full-blown retreat. If she wanted to stop, she needed to say so now.

Ellie took a deep breath, moaning in frustration.

" _Please,"_ came her breathless whisper.

 _Well, that answers that._

His mouth immediately returning to hers, determined to give her what she craved. Doing his damnedest to ignore his own overwhelming need and to instead, focus on hers, he slowly spread his palm up and over her bra that held the soft mound of flesh that he was seeking. First, applying gentle pressure, he massaged her breast through the material, feeling the hardness of her nipple through the layer encasing it. The little moans she made in response tortured him, tempted him to take more. Rubbing his thumb over the covered peak, Ellie gasped as she arched her breast against his hand, begging for more.

Losing some of his well-held restraint, Tristan roughly tugged the cup of her down over her breast, exposing the satin skin that he craved to touch. He groaned against her mouth, the gentle weight of her breast completely filling his grasp. His fingertips savoring the velvety softness of her tender skin, the firm peak of her nipple pressing into the center of his palm. He massaged the swollen mound, relishing in the feel of her flesh completely filling his hand as he tried to recover some shreds of his sanity to continue on this torturous path. Gently releasing the fullness of her breast, his hand moved so that only her nipple was barely touched his palm. He began to move his hand so that her nipple drew slow, lazy circles on the hard skin of his palm.

Ellie groaned in frustration, trying to push her breast against his hand, craving the pressure of his touch. Tristan smiled against her mouth. Instead of giving her what she wanted, he took her nipple between his thumb and forefinger and pinched the acutely sensitive and erect flesh.

The sharp shock of pleasure that rippled through her was too much, her knees buckling, she swayed into him for support, no longer trusting her legs to stand. Everything burned inside of her; her body burned for release. She'd never felt like she needed something so badly, something that she was so close to reaching, that the pleasure of remaining on the constant precipice of fulfillment was literally taking every ounce of energy that she possessed.

Tristan felt it too. She was so close, and as much as he physically ached to taste her, today was not the day. Tonight, he wanted her to see herself as he did – gorgeous, desirous, and exquisite in ecstasy.

Using her loss of balance as a stimulus, his hand released the tender flesh of her breast, reaching back around her to gently lift her up off the ground and hold her to him. A few steps had them in front of the windows, her back to the glass. Ellie didn't protest at the movement, her small, surprised gasp quickly stifled by the potent need that overwhelmed her senses.

Breaking their kiss, Tristan gently set her feet back on the ground, watching as her pleasure-laden lids raised, her emerald eyes dark with lust.

" _Now, you will see,"_ he whispered.

Before she could even register what Tristan had said, Ellie found herself being gently spun away from him, to face the window and the night sky beyond it. Because of the lighting behind them in the apartment, her reflection was clearly visible in the glass: her lips were red and swollen, her face flushed with desire, her shirt had bunched, mostly around her left breast where her bra was still shoved beneath the it, her erect nipple pressing directly against the fabric of her shirt. Her mouth parted, starting to see the woman that Tristan had drawn – a woman immersed in pleasure, gorgeous and comfortable in her own skin. Her eyes, finally moving from her own reflection, saw Tristan standing behind her, the hard planes of his face etched with painfully controlled lust. His golden-black eyes staring back at her through the window.

 _Perfect._

He was hypnotized, watching Ellie evaluate herself in the makeshift mirror. She was so damn beautiful, her skin colored with passion, the effect he'd had on her written all over her face. When her eyes met his, he knew she was beginning to truly see herself, her stare one of wonder and desire.

Holding that gaze, his left hand strayed from her hip where it had been holding her steady, up underneath her shirt again, to cup her freed breast. The sensation overwhelmed Ellie, her head dropping back onto his shoulder, her eyelids too heavy for her to keep open anymore, her gaze drawing too much energy and focus away from experiencing all of the sensations his touch was providing. Tristan watched himself in the window, watched his fingers thumb over the firm softness of her nipple, his lips quivering with the need to suck on it. He indulged the intense desire that shot straight to his groin. His erection was exceptionally hard, trapped painfully by his jeans, against the soft cushion of her ass.

He groaned, pressing his dick harder against her. His eyes shut with the pleasure that the pressure rocketed through him. Tristan tortured him right to the edge before he forced his gaze away from watching himself pleasure her, ducking his head to press his lips against the supple skin of her neck.

 _She tasted just like he had imagined._

A soft hint of vanilla on her skin, Tristan kissed and sucked down along the length of her neck while his fingers continued to toy mercilessly with her breast.

" _Tristan, please,_ " Ellie begged with a moan, unsure how much longer her legs would support her.

Tristan smiled against her neck, and with one last tug on her nipple, allowed his hand begin to drift lower, over her quivering stomach to the waistband of her jeans. His fingers deftly undid the button and zipper, feeling her body shake underneath him with anticipation.

His hand crept underneath the edge of her underwear, trailing lightly over the sensitive skin, heading directly for the center of all her pleasure.

" _Fuck,_ " Tristan groaned as his finger entered the pool of wetness underneath her entrance.

His hand was immediately coated in her pleasure and he knew that a single touch would be enough to send her over the edge of orgasm, just like it would to him. He'd never experienced this level of desire before, and he knew that she hadn't either, and she needed to see herself as she came.

" _Ellie,_ " he rasped, " _watch yourself."_

Her head lolled to the side as she raised it off of his shoulder, her eyes struggling to open. He stayed focused on her gaze, and as soon as he saw it lock on his hand that had disappeared into the front of her jeans, he let his fingers free.

Slick with her juices, they delved greedily beneath her folds heading straight for her clit. At the first brush of his fingers over the swollen and sensitive nub, Ellie's eyes went wide, her loud gasp coinciding with her hips jerking back against his.

His vision went black as pleasure shot through him from her movement. That, coupled with the feeling of her hot, wet folds underneath his fingertips, almost had him come on the spot. His jaw clenched, blocking out everything but his one task. Her face came back into focus and he saw that her eyes had begun to flutter shut.

" _If you don't watch yourself, I won't let you come,"_ he bit out harshly, his own desire too great to temper his tone.

Tristan needed her orgasm, even more than he needed his own. At his coarse words in her ear, her eyes struggled back open, focusing on her face, contorted with the need for release. When he saw that she had obeyed his words, his fingers pressed immediately back down on her clit; her mouth dropped open. When he began to rub and press the swollen bud, her moans began to come out involuntarily; she bit her lip in an attempt to control them, but she was too far beyond control. Her moans quickly gained volume and frequency and he knew she was about to break.

He should have stuck to what he was doing, but he couldn't help himself, he had to feel her around him. He watched her face as she began to realize that she was approaching the edge, that she was about to reach the very peak of her pleasure. In that moment, he pressed his middle finger completely inside of her, his thumb flicking frantically over her clit – the combination of which sent her soaring over the edge of release.

Tristan thought he would die of pleasure. Her incredibly tight passage constricting around his finger as she came, the rush of wetness on her release was incredible. Watching her watch herself was incredible. He'd been on the edge of orgasm when her reaction to hers had pushed him over the edge. Tristan hadn't thought he was so close, that it was even possible for him to be aroused enough that he would be able to come in his pants.

 _Fuck, was he wrong._

When she came, her hips jerked against his hand and then back against his groin, and they'd continued their undulations as she rode his finger and the waves of her orgasm. The firm pressure of her ass, the friction of it as it pressed back against erection again and again and again. _It was enough._

 _"Fuck,"_ he yelled, his eyes closing as he felt the warm jet of his release inside the confines of his jeans.

His thumb continued to gently rub over her clit, easing the tremors of the aftermath of her climax so that her ass continued to press back against him as she eased both the tremors of his.

Ellie collapsed against his hands, and it took the remainder of his strength to stay standing for the both. Their breaths came in uneven gasps, desperately trying to re-oxygenate their overstimulated bodies and slow down their racings hearts.

Tristan glanced at the window one last time, at Ellie's face, before the reality of what they had just done began to sink in. He looked at her now beautifully sated expression and realized that he'd been completely wrong in his drawings; they'd come nowhere close to the breathtaking beauty of the woman in front of him when she was consumed with passion.

 _For the first time in his life, he didn't know if he was capable of capturing the unearthly beauty that was Ellie Carter._


	12. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

 _She'd watched the entire time._ In her reflection in the window, she saw herself orgasm for the first time in her life. She'd watched the pleasure build and build and build and when the waves of release crashed over her, she finally saw herself - the woman in the drawing, beautifully enjoying the exquisite explosion of pleasure that had consumed her. It had been breathtaking. Literally.

Ellie finally closed her eyes, trying to regain control of her breathing and her body that had spiraled up and burst out of control.

 _Deep breaths, in and out._

She let her breaths calm her, something that she was proficient at after having gone through rounds of chemo – a time when she had also felt that her body had been spiraling out of control, potentially towards destruction. This time, though, that same sense of helplessness, was exhilarating, pleasurable, and addictive.

 _She wanted more._

It wasn't the pleasure that she found herself craving; well, she was craving that too, but it wasn't what she yearned for most. It was what that pleasure had brought out in her – the sense of confidently knowing that she was beautiful; that, in that moment, her body was no longer damaged and deformed from the cancer or its treatment. Even if her mind was still suffering with the lingering effects of self-doubt, of seeing things, of seeing herself has she used to be, and not how she was now. In that moment, all doubt had been obliterated from her thoughts. She'd been beautiful, she'd been desirable, she'd been free.

 _And he had wanted her._

Tristan's face, when he had watched her, and afterward when she assumed that he had orgasmed, too, only heightened her need to experience this again. He'd been as consumed as she was. She saw it in his eyes, on his face, felt it the way that he touched and pleasured it; everything that he'd made her feel, only amplified his pleasure.

In spite of all the other the other women that had most definitely come before her, in spite of all of his other options that he could have chosen for this project, he'd picked her. She hadn't believed that he could really want her like that, but when she saw his face in the window, she knew how wrong she was. He had tried, but he'd failed at controlling himself. She'd barely touched him, and only indirectly through their clothes, and it had been enough to send him over the edge.

 _She didn't know much, but she knew that that didn't happen every day._

Goosebumps covered her skin at the thought of what Tristan must have been imagining in order to draw her like that. How could he have known what she could feel? How those emotions would play out on her face?

 _Maybe because he did this a lot._

The thought dampened her hope, a sign that her self-doubt was working its way back out as her body returned back to Earth, as it seemed that his was doing as well.

Ellie kept her eyes closed for a moment longer, her head back resting against his shoulder, relishing in the solid heat of his body behind her; the warm support giving her strength to stand, otherwise she was sure she would collapse in exhaustion.

She felt him slowly and tendering slide his hand back out of her underwear and jeans, managing to refasten them single-handedly. His other hand, gently caressed her breast for a few aching seconds, his touch reluctant to part with the soft and enticing flesh. Finally releasing the sensitive mound, he readjusted her bra to right, his hand gently falling down over her stomach to come and rest on her hip.

She felt his steady breathing on her neck, his lips placing one last, tender kiss on the sensitive skin of her neck before he began to pull away from her.

"Why don't we sit down?" he whispered in her ear, feeling how she swayed back against him with the loss of his support.

Reluctant to end this incredible moment, Ellie moaned before raising her head and eyelids. Her perfectly sated gaze meeting the deep, golden amber of his. Suddenly, she felt slightly embarrassed by what she'd just experienced with him – almost a total stranger. Ducking her head with what she hoped would appear as a semblance of a nod, she shuffled her way back over to the couch with Tristan's support, trying to hide the blush that had returned to her cheeks.

 _What had she been thinking, throwing herself at him like that?_

Tristan eased her back down onto the couch where she had been sitting before. He brought over a blanket, and Ellie realized that she'd inadvertently crossed her arms as though she were cold.

"Relax for a minute, I'll be right back with some food," he said softly, with a gentle smile as he walked off into his bedroom, the door closing partially behind him.

She reached for the glass of water still on the table, taking several large sips when she realized just how thirsty she was. When she set the glass back on the table, she noticed the sketchbook laying on the floor where she had dropped it earlier. Picking it up, of course it was still open to the sketches of her, with the expressions that she'd just realized herself capable of making. She quickly flipped the book shut, the images heightening her embarrassment and concern.

 _As well as her shocking desire to create those emotions again. As soon as possible._


	13. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

 _Holy fuck._

Tristan barely maintained his calm and collected façade through the entrance to his room.

 _That had been incredible. And far, far too much._

Using both arms to support himself over the sink in the master bath, Tristan took a good look at himself; his body alive and still vibrating with the intensity of his release, the goosebumps just fading from his skin, and his eyes a dark, golden amber. He'd never felt anything like that, he thought, as he splashed cold water onto his face.

 _And he wanted more._

Still as hard as a rock, Tristan uncomfortably shed his jeans and boxers that were wet and sticky from his release.

 _And that had certainly never happened before._

Grabbing a washcloth, he quickly wiped the remnants of his semen from his still sensitive and engorged flesh – an issue that he would have to deal with later. For right now, he had to go back out there and pretend like he wasn't aching to carry her back here and really show her what she was capable of feeling.

Pulling on a clean pair of boxers and sweats, he walked back out into the living room; the first thing he noticed was that Ellie was no longer on the couch.

 _Had she left?_

Panic flared through him; he knew he'd gone too far, but he hadn't thought she was on verge of running away because of it. His throat constricted in fear and anger, but just before he could let out a strangled cry of her name, his eye caught movement in his periphery; Ellie was in the kitchen.

"Did you think that I left?" she asked hesitantly, having seen his reaction on re-entering the room and realizing her absence.

His face hardened in annoyance at how upset he'd let himself become, mostly because during no part of that second had his thoughts been on his revenge, only on losing her. "It might have crossed my mind," he replied, stonily.

"I just came out to fill my glass of water…" she trailed off looking around her, "do I just get it from the sink?"

"No. I have bottles," Tristan replied, opening up a cabinet to pull out a bottle of water to refill her glass.

"Thank you," she replied, "I told you, you aren't getting rid of me that easily."

"Well, maybe I'll just have to work harder then," he taunted, enjoying the sudden widening of her eyes, "I ordered in some Thai food, if that's ok. You can go sit if you want, I'm just going to warm it up."

"Ok," she said softly, taking her glass and going to sit at the dining table, turning her chair to face the kitchen and watch him.

They seemed content to leave the passion and pleasure they'd just felt remain unspoken about, instead returning to a relaxed and platonic conversation while they both tried to sort through everything that the experience had meant.

Tristan pulled the take-out Thai from the bag sitting on the countertop, dumping the cartons of noodles and curry into separate bowls, taking turns heating them in the microwave.

"So," Tristan heard Ellie begin softly from behind him, "when did you start practicing art?"

"A long time ago, I don't remember. My mom insisted that I do it after I brought home a stick figure drawing of my family; I don't know what she saw in it, but somehow she knew that I had skill," he laughed to himself at the memory.

He'd been just a kid at the time, and of course, thought that art was a lame hobby to have. Thankfully, his dad had enrolled him Tae Kwon Do at the same time – a suitable defense mechanism should anyone decide to taunt him about it. Surprisingly, not unlike now, he'd managed to keep his art classes to himself for a very long time. When he was older it hadn't been as big of a deal; that had been where he met Pierce and Sloane.

"She seems like a very smart lady," Ellie said warmly from the table.

Tristan caught her gaze and realized how much had come across in his in tone and face when talking about his mom. "She was. She died," he said with a sharper tone, not wanting to continue this conversation that was just going to remind him exactly why Ellie was sitting at his table in the first place.

"I'm so sorry," Ellie gushed, "my mother passed away, too, but when I was very young, so I don't really remember. My dad has played 'mom' and 'dad' for most of my life."

Tristan gritted his teeth, determined to not feel sorry for her or her father. Sympathy would ruin him. "I'm sorry about your mom," was all he could respond with, appreciating at least what a loss that was.

"Thank you."

"Enough about me. I want to know more about you," he said firmly, bringing over the now ready to eat food. Her eyes widened as he set the bowls and a plate for her down on the table, taking in all of the options before her.

"What is all of this?"

"So, there is Pad Thai here, Panang curry, Thai basil chicken, and some coconut sticky rice," Tristan said, pointing out each dish for her.

"Oh."

"Have you had Thai before?"

"No – another first for me," Ellie replied, with a sheepish smile.

"How have you never tried Thai food?" he questioned her.

She was an enigma, coming from a wealthy family, yet never having been outside of the city; she craved to travel the world, but has never had Thai food.

"Umm…well," she stuttered, her face reddening, "I guess I just never thought to. My dad was never into ethnic food really – unless pizza counts, so I never ate any of that growing up, and then when I started working, it was just easier to stick with things that I knew. Not to mention, I'd be eating with my dad most nights."

 _With her dad, in the hospital, eating cafeteria food. Or at home, so nauseous from the chemo meds that she could barely choke down some bread or pasta without wanting to vomit it right back up._

"Well, if you want to travel the world, you should really think about branching out," Tristan replied, eyeing her narrowly, trying to decipher what was going through her head that had her concerned. "I would suggest starting with the pad Thai – most people like that one."

She followed his suggesting, taking a serving of the delicious-smelling noodles onto her plate, wondering how many other women he had suggested it to.

 _Of course he didn't suggest that to other women, silly, they've all probably had it before; they're all far more cultured and experienced that you._

The negative thoughts about herself derailed as she took a bite of the food in front of her.

"Oh my God, this is amazing," she said, mouth full of noodles.

Tristan smiled at her enthusiasm. He didn't think he would ever get tired of watching her experience new things – or of being the one responsible for it. "I'm glad you like it."

"I'm definitely adding Thailand to my list of places to travel to."

"It's a pretty interesting country, but I agree, the food is worth it," he replied nonchalantly, as if going to Thailand was an everyday occurrence for most people.

"You've been there?" Ellie asked, her eyes widening.

"I've been a lot of places. Comes with the job." _Both of them._

"That's amazing," her words still muffled by all the food that she kept trying to eat.

"So, your father never took you anywhere?" Tristan probed, his opinion of the man dwindling by the minute.

 _If that was even possible._

"No. Well, to the beach in the Hamptons a few times, but not to a different country or anything, no."

"Why not? Or does he not like to travel either?"

"No, although I'm sure he would struggle if we went to somewhere that didn't have American food. I think he likes to travel. He knows how much I want to, and plan on going."

"If he knows how much you want to do it, how much it means to you, why didn't he travel with you before now? I thought you said he was such a great dad," Tristan couldn't help the slight edge that entered his voice.

 _How could someone not want to experience something like that with this woman? She was incredible._

He needed to stop thinking like that, like really fucking stop. He watched Ellie as she continued to finish her bite of food, eyes widening as she absorbed what he said, although it didn't seem to be because of his tone, but more because she didn't have a good answer to give him – or that she wanted to give him.

"He is a great dad," she began in defense, "he really is. He was really busy with work and growing the firm, making sure I never wanted for anything – except to travel, I guess. It was a lot thrown on him, when my mom died; he had a little girl and not a whole lot of ideas on how to raise me on his own. He is a great dad and I know that he did his best, even if I never managed to get everything that I wanted, but who does? Plus, I was in school most of those years too. I know that everything that he did was out of concern for me; I'm all he has left," Ellie mumbled as she finished her last bite – _at least the last part wasn't a lie._

"I see," Tristan said, not trusting himself to say anything else about her father, "well, if you want any travel recommendations, don't hesitate to ask."

"So, you and your dad aren't close?" Ellie asked, hesitantly, intent on keeping their conversation to family.

He knew it was hard for her to imagine that he wasn't as close to his father as she was to hers, especially since, in her mind, they'd both experienced similar traumas; but that wasn't how life worked and that wasn't a conversation that he was going to have.

"No, and you also have a little bit of sauce in the corner of your lip," he said redirecting her focus from his answer – or lack thereof.

He chuckled at her embarrassment as her thumb came up to quickly wipe away the small remnant of the pad Thai sauce.

"Thank you," she replied, her thumb coming up to wipe the corner of her mouth. Without thinking, she immediately brought her thumb to her mouth, gently sucking the drop of sauce off of the pad of her finger. What was thoughtless for her, was like a sucker punch to him - the way her eyes briefly closed as she sucked and savored the last bit of sauce from their dinner; he wished her lips were on him. That thought meant that he was a hard as a rock again, a split second later.

"Fuck," he mumbled painfully to himself as he picked up their plates off of the table and took them out to the kitchen – anything to put some distance between them.

Rinsing them quickly in the sink allowed his blood to cool for a few seconds before he walked back to the table. Her confused gaze straying from his and wandering down the length of his body, quickly jumping back up to his face as soon as they crossed his waistline. Her eyes were verdant with hunger.

"What?" he asked with a half-smile.

"Nothing," she said quickly, letting her head fall, but not before Tristan saw the blush steal over her cheeks.

Yes, he had an erection and yes, he knew that his sweatpants were not the most ideal at disguising it. He didn't care though. She needed to know that he wanted her; she needed to know just what she had instigated and the look he'd caught on her face told him that she wanted him just as much.

 _But not tonight._

He'd already gone far enough with her tonight. He needed to send her home before they both did something that they would regret.

"Next time, maybe we'll try a live sitting," Tristan informed her, his tone returning to its businesslike persona while he stood by the table.

"So, you think I'm comfortable enough around you then?" Ellie teased as she stood, recognizing that this meant it was time for her to go.

"I would say so, wouldn't you?" he asked, his voice deep with arousal, his eyes darkening on her again. Tristan watched her face flush and her body come alive as she realized exactly to what he had been referring.

"Ahh, so, when is this next time?" she asked, the look of hope and excitement in her eyes gnawing at him.

"Saturday," he replied, matter-of-factly.

 _Unless he caved and called her sooner._

"Oh…ok…" she said, biting her lip.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his eyes narrowing.

"Nothing, it's fine. I just had plans with my dad, but I'll tell him we have to reschedule; it wasn't important." Tristan said nothing in reply, bitterly pleased that she was being forced to pick him over her father.

"Would it be ok if I told him why I had to reschedule?" she asked hesitantly.

"No," Tristan replied immediately, his tone sharp with disapproval, "you signed the contract; you know the rules."

"Of course, I just… well, never mind. I'll see you on Saturday then."

He saw the look of disappointment in her eyes, knew the myriad of things that were crossing through her mind – was he mad at her for asking to tell her father? Had she done something wrong that he didn't want to see her tomorrow or the next day? Was he trying to get rid of her by putting her off? His mouth literally burned with the words of reassurance that she craved, but he forced himself to remain silent while he watched her eyes dim as she turned to grab her things from off of the couch.

He was annoyed that she had thought about breaking her contract, annoyed that her relationship with her father was still a priority. Which was fucking ridiculous because she'd known him all of a week, which meant that he was really just annoyed at himself for caring.

"I'm taking over a company so I have meetings the rest of the week trying to get everything squared away," he blurted out, walking over to the entrance just as she opened the door to leave, cursing himself for his weakness.

It was true. He hadn't planned on having to create another piece for this competition, or for anything, which meant his secretary had overloaded his schedule over the coming weeks to compensate for his recent absence.

"It's ok; I'll see you Saturday," Ellie replied, a small spark of hope returning to her gaze, as she stared up at him, expectant and hopeful for one more thing.

 _Do not kiss her, Tristan._

God, how he wanted to, though. His eyes staring into her, lost in their green depths. Their increasingly shallow, warm breaths met and mingled in front of them; his face was mere inches from hers.

 _It would be so easy, so right._

The elevator dinged and saved him from himself.

"I'll text you a time. Goodnight, Ellie," he said, lifting his head, shifting away from her.

"Goodnight, Tristan." Her tone and smile surprisingly concealed most of the disappointment he knew that she felt. She turned and walked into the elevator with her head held high.

 _Siren._

He stared out the door until the elevator closed, definitively eliminating his last opportunity to stop her one more time and give in to what they both wanted. Shutting the door, he didn't even bother to clean the rest of the dishes off of the table. Instead, he walked straight past the table and headed for the bathroom and the cold shower that was calling his name.

 _So far, so good._

 _Ok, maybe not good, but decent, at least._

Tristan let the icy pellets of water pelt his sensitized skin; each micro-bullet eliminating the desire, frustration, arousal, and anger that had been building up in his body. The coldness numbed his senses, leaving only his thoughts to focus on.

 _Had he gone too far?_

The question plagued him over and over. She hadn't run away afterward, which was a positive sign, but had it been too soon for something so intimately physical. He'd planned to woo her, to slowly lure her in, and yet all of those plans seemed to fly right out the window every time he was around her; he couldn't maintain that level of control.

 _Yet, she hadn't seemed to mind._

Mind? She'd been the one who'd asked, who'd instigated. Tristan realized that he'd forgotten that small fact up until this moment.

 _She'd asked him to show her pleasure._

Granted, he'd left the sketchbook with those sketches out for her to see, but only as a means of bringing their relationship closer to that level – a hint of what was to come. He never expected it to go as far as it had tonight and that threw him off guard. He wanted her to know how he saw her, how he thought about her, how he could make her feel. Yes, she was looking to change her life, because of what stimulus he was still trying to uncover, but she'd been so skittish up to now, accepting his advances but only to a certain point.

 _What had changed between Saturday and today that made her the instigator?_

Something had happened.

 _But did it really matter to him what it was? Should it matter?_

He shouldn't care. Whatever it was, was working in his favor and he shouldn't even think about messing with it. Except that he could stop his mind from wondering. Everything that she said made sense; it all seemed plausible, but he just knew there was more to it.

 _Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, Tristan._

He needed to stop concerning himself with whatever it was, no matter how curious it made him. It wasn't his concern, just like she, ultimately, wasn't his concern. The thought had his gut clenching, remembering the way that she had looked at him just before the words 'show me' had left her mouth. What had happened between them was incredible, he wasn't going to deny that. The way she had responded to him, it was even more beautiful than he had imagined; it was beyond his talents to reproduce artistically. Thankfully, it wasn't beyond his talents to enjoy it. And, _fuck,_ did he enjoy it. He hadn't planned on becoming that _physically_ involved. She'd asked him to show her pleasure, and that is what he'd set out to do, with no intention of finding any himself; in his mind, that would have gone too far.

He wasn't a stranger to giving women pleasure, especially during his art process – it was an emotion that could be otherwise elusive, but a challenge to capture; and Tristan loved challenges. Ellie was a challenge, but not just as a piece in the plan for his revenge. No, she was a challenge to him to remain in control and unattached. Touching her, watching her, watching her watch herself and remaining unaffected, it was a challenge that he had failed. She was gorgeous in her innocence and anticipation, in the way that she experienced pleasure.

 _It was definitely her first orgasm._

He didn't know if she'd had sex before but he did know that that had been her first orgasm. _And it felt so fucking good to be the one who had given it to her._ He'd known the moment she saw the drawings he had done of her. The shock and wonder that had crossed her face told him she didn't understand how she could look and feel that way; the only possible reason she could think that would be if she'd never experienced an orgasm before. And then, when she did finally come…

 _Fuck._

Tristan glanced over his shoulder, checking to see if the water temperature could go any colder. He was on fire again replaying how he'd pleasured her over again in his mind, remember her face and the feeling of her hot, wet passage clasping around his finger as she succumbed to release.

 _It had definitely been her first time._

The thought brought an unwelcome bloom of pride and satisfaction in his chest. If he wasn't careful, he could easily lose himself in this process.


	14. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

"Knock, knock."

Tristan's jaw clenched as Pierce's devilish tenor rolled through the air like a wave, crashing down on his productive mindset that he'd been ensconced in.

"How can I help you, friend?" Tristan replied, sarcasm evident in his tone, refusing to look up from the contract he was currently reading. In his periphery, Tristan saw Pierce saunter over closer to his desk. Pulling his eyes from his work, he met his partner's amused expression with a cold, hard stare of his own.

"Oh, just checking in," he replied casually.

 _Liar._

"Great, well, you've checked. I'm here, and busy. I'll see you in a few weeks." Tristan knew he wouldn't get rid of him that easily.

"You're still doing the competition then? I was wondering…I stopped by your studio the other day but you were nowhere to be found…" Pierce trailed off, picking up one of the books sitting on the edge of Tristan's desk.

"I am," Tristan replied harshly, "I figured you might swing by, so I've had to temporarily move my operation elsewhere." As he spoke, Tristan began to slowly round his desk in an attempt to convey that Pierce wasn't welcome here at the moment.

"Interesting," Pierce mused, a perceptive smile spreading over his dark face. "You know, you should really stop being so pissed at me. It was an honest mistake what happened. I'm not to blame for the fact that Jack won't give you the drawing back, although the irony is incredibly satisfying."

"No, I think you are exactly to blame," Tristan countered, his voice rising with his temper.

It had been a long week – a long week without Ellie. He'd almost caved yesterday, determining to call her last night, but he'd been stuck at the office so late trying to go over the final touches for this Vanguard contract that his exhaustion had worn out and saved him from himself. Today was rough, but the thought of seeing her tomorrow made somehow made it sufferable.

"Really, Tris, you need to chill the fuck out; it's only a competition," Pierce said, slapping him on the shoulder.

Tristan didn't care what his words were, his tone implied that it was more than just a competition to the both of them. For Pierce, it was about toying with him, trying to best him and show Tristan that he wasn't the boss of the rest of them. For Tristan, it was about revenge, and putting Pierce in his place. Recklessness in their business was not acceptable.

 _Except for him, just this one time._

If it wasn't for Pierce, he wouldn't have to be reckless in the first place; this wasn't his fault.

"Then why are you here? Why have you been snooping around my studio, if its 'just a competition'? Sounds to me like you are the one who's taking it a little too far. It's understandable, I'd be concerned about losing if I were you, too," Tristan fired back. _He really didn't have time for this._ His stress from work and absence from Ellie was making him extremely irritable and apparently unable to control his need to provoke Pierce, instead of just calmly brushing him off.

 _Or maybe you're just irritable not because Pierce put you on the direct path to Ellie, but because of the feelings you can't seem to control for her?_

"I wasn't spying," Pierce said flatly, the instigating amusement dropping from his voice, "Just thought I'd catch a glimpse of the ginger piece of ass that you've been tapping. I wonder, is her hair just as red –"

 _CRACK._

Tristan punched him square in the jaw, causing Pierce's head to jerk to the side, as he stumbled back slightly. For a second, they both stood there in silence, unmoving. Pierce slowly bringing his hand up to his face.

 _Fuck._

He definitely should not have done that. One second Pierce was rambling and the next, Tristan's vision went red with rage, clearing his fist connected with his friend's jaw.

"Ah, fuck," Tristan heaved with a regretful sigh. Tristan paused as his friend's face finally rose to be level with his. His eyes meeting the ominous depths of Pierce's black gaze. He watched as Pierce brought his sleeve up to wipe the corner of his mouth where a small drop of blood had pooled.

"Pierce –"

"Fuck you, Tristan," Pierce uttered, slowly and articulately, his stare deadly as he turned and left Tristan's office, slamming the door behind him.

 _Fucking fuck._

Tristan smashed his fist down onto his desk with a yell. This was not what he needed right now.

 _God dammit._

He shouldn't have punched him. It didn't matter that what he said was completely inappropriate and offensive, he'd only said it to get a reaction from Tristan, to throw him off his game; and Tristan had let him, probably even more than Pierce had bargained for.

Tristan closed his eyes, trying to control the chaos that seemed to keep spiraling out into his life. First, trying to secure this Vanguard deal was fucking killing him right now, but he knew it was an excellent move and would make him billions in the future which meant that he had to suck it up and put up with all their BS to get it signed. And then, adding the whole issue with trying to get his mom's portrait back, topped off with his relationship with Ellie. Out of everything, that was what had him on edge the most. He wanted her so badly, and part of him hated himself for it, and hated Pierce for making him question himself and torture himself by being with her. All of that, combined, meant that as soon as Pierce uttered those words, it was the straw that broke his back.

Pierce could have said anything else, about him, his art, his family…anything… but Ellie, she was apparently off limits. Tristan probably deserved at least half of what Pierce had said to him over the course of their friendship, and vice versa, but this, he couldn't stomach. He didn't know much about Ellie, yet he _knew_ her, and he wouldn't stand by and let anyone talk about her like that. In that second, Ellie was his and _no one_ spoke about something of his in that way.

It was a terrible way to think of her, but it was the only thing he felt.

 _Possessiveness._

It had set his blood pumping, his body alive and ready to attack – and that's just what he had done. He'd attacked his deranged and questionably psychotic friend.

Tristan gripped the edge of his desk with both hands, letting his head hang down in momentary defeat between his shoulders. He was sure that he'd probably said something similar, if not worse, to Pierce in the past; the difference being that Pierce never really cared about any of the women that he'd slept with, so he didn't care what Tristan said about them.

Pierce had been through a lot of shit when he was younger. Tristan himself didn't know all the details. Honestly, he wondered if anyone did. Maybe Sloane; Sloane would be the type of person you could tell – quiet, a great listener, non-confrontational, calm… most things that he and Pierce were not, which is why they just never connected on that level. They were more the 'bust-each-other's-balls' type of friends – close because of their similar personalities, but at the same time, those similar characteristics are what held them apart; each never wanting to admit to a weakness or a fault. No matter their differences, no matter their disagreements, their arguments in the past, they had moved past them and remained friends.

 _Maybe not this time._

Yeah, he definitely shouldn't have punched Pierce. Christ, what had he been thinking? Not what – _who._ He'd been thinking of Ellie; he'd let a woman that he barely knew, yet unbearably desired, come between him and one of his best friends, and it was going to come with consequences.

Tristan needed this competition to be over, so that he could be done with it all, done with Jack Carter, done with competing with Pierce, and done with having his life derailed because of his attraction to Ellie.

His head throbbing, he stood up and moved back behind his desk, staring out the large windows of his corner office, looking out over the Hudson. He scowled; even the peaceful view before him couldn't calm the turmoil in his mind. Yanking his desk chair back out, he sat down to return to the contract he'd been reviewing.

The words on the page jumbled before his eyes, swimming together into a sea of nonsense. He shut his eyes again, pinching the bridge of his nose. Hitting the button on his intercom, he buzzed out to his secretary.

"Donna, can you get me some Motrin? At least eight hundred milligrams, please." He hated taking meds, but at this point it was the only thing that was going to allow him to continue working today.

Keeping his eyes closed to reduce the stimuli to his brain, he waited for Donna to bring him the medication. Unfortunately, or fortunately, holding his eyes shut let his mind drift to its favorite subject, lately – _Ellie._

At first, he recollected the first time that he saw her – awkwardly making a scene during his audition, dropping her clipboard…twice. He felt a smile break out over his face, relaxing some of the tension in his muscles. Briefly, his memory jumped to their dinner, her awe at the restaurant and then the oysters. Watching someone in awe of something was one of the most highly addictive feels that he'd ever experienced, whether it was in his business, or when they first began the Guild, the awe they'd created when the art community realized that someone could reproduce an artwork so accurately; the awe, and the accompanying pride that followed, was better than any drug.

 _Except passion._

If you had asked him a few weeks ago, standing at their last exhibit, he would have said that there was no difference between awe or passion created in someone else; the rush of power was equal between the two. Today, though, today there was no comparison.

His mind replayed Ellie's face as she orgasmed, his fingers rubbing together as the nerves remember how her body had felt underneath his touch. This was where his mind always drifted to when his eyes shut, because for Ellie, it had been more than passion that he had given her; it had been power. Tristan groaned.

 _Knock, knock._

His eyes shot open, wincing as the sudden influx of light seared through his head.

"Mr. Black? I have the pills you requested," his secretary, Donna, said as she opened his office door and peered inside.

"Wonderful, thank you," Tristan replied, motioning her forward. He nodded as she set a cup with the pills on his desk next to a small cup of water, thanking her again quietly as she turned and went back out to her desk.

Tossing the pills into his mouth, he quickly down the entire cup of water, wondering if he'd had enough to drink today; maybe he was dehydrated. He turned around to face the small fridge behind his desk, having to readjust his erection inside of his pants before he could bend over and open it; he pulled out a small bottle of Fiji water, cracked it open and gulped down half of the bottle before turning back around.

Tristan adjusted himself again, his pants digging into the sensitive and aroused flesh between his legs. He should have known better than to wear this suit, especially lately. It seemed like he couldn't go a day without having to deal with his problem.

 _He was lucky if it was only once a day._

He couldn't keep his mind from drifting to her in those off moments, and once it went there, it went _there._

 _Fine._

He caved to his thoughts, unable to fight them with his head throbbing the way that it was.

 _Fuck, you'd think he'd been the one who was punched in the face the way that his head hurt._

Picking up his phone, he scrolled to Ellie's contact information and opened up a new text message to her.

 _\- Good afternoon, minx._

He stared at the screen, willing it to respond.

 _~ Good afternoon, Tristan._

 _\- How are you today?_

 _~ I'm ok. Researching some places that I'd like to travel to at the moment. How is your day going?_

 _\- The only good thing about today is that it's going to turn into tomorrow._

 _~ I'm excited to finally watch you as you work. I'm always amazed with artists, probably because I have no talent myself, at how they can create something so beautiful with their own hands._

 _\- I believe you already saw my hands at work during our last meeting, Miss Carter. Or should I say felt my hands at work?_

Tristan smiled to himself, knowing that she would be blushing so hard right now. Although this was not helping the situation going on in his pants, he thought, adjusting in his desk chair again to accommodate his increasingly uncomfortable erection.

~ _Mr. Black, I would never admit to such a thing through a text message. Not to mention, it would only serve to enlarge your already excessively-sized ego. What time and where tomorrow? I'm going back to my research; stop distracting me._

Touché, Miss Ellie Carter. Touché. Tristan chuckled at the response from his feisty siren. He knew that what he had said pleased her; he could sense her smile through her words even though she'd attempted a tone of mock propriety. The porcelain skin of her face was still probably tainted with the stain of pink, even though she was biting her lip in an attempt not to smile – that is how he imagined her.

 _\- Distracting you is my retribution; you've been on my mind all morning, but very well, Miss Carter, I'll see you at my place at eleven._

 _~ See you then._ _J_

God, she had no idea what distracting was, what the thought of her had been doing to him the past several days. Oh, he was going to have to inform her just how far off her definition of distraction was; when he saw her, he was going to show her just how pleasant a distraction could truly be.

Setting his phone back down, he tried for the third time this afternoon to make it through the jumble of words on the page. Thankfully, his pounding headache had subsided; whether it was from the medication that he had just taken or from the fact that he'd given in to his desire to message Ellie.

Tristan realized that for the last fifteen minutes, what had just happened between him and Pierce hadn't even crossed his mind, even though he'd be talking to the very subject of their altercation. He sighed, wondering how just messaging her could have such an effect on him.

She was just so different than most of the women that he usually came into contact with. Most of the women he knew, or that tried to get to know him, were gorgeous, too, but the difference was that they knew it; they were confident in their appearance and they used it to their advantage. Ellie on the other hand, was the complete opposite, purposefully unaware and unconvinced of her beauty. It was one of her characteristics that perpetually intrigued him. The other thing, the main thing, that seemed to keep him beyond preoccupied with her was the fact that she was in no way preoccupied with him.

 _Ok, well that wasn't quite the truth._

Seriously, though, she didn't care who he was. Most women were interested in him for one of two reasons – either because he is Tristan Black, billionaire bachelor, or because he was Titian, famous, mysterious, artist extraordinaire; most women wanted a relationship with one of those two men for basically the same reasons: fame and money. Ellie, though, well, she didn't know he was Titian, and she didn't care that he was Tristan Black. For some reason that he couldn't fathom, his money and power, his success as an investment banker, made zero difference to her. Maybe because her father was wealthy, too? He just didn't get that vibe from her – the one that says that she is used to wealth and therefore isn't fazed by it.

She was preoccupied with him because of how he made her feel – at least as far as he could tell; he doubted she was that good of an actress to cover up something more. That was what made his attraction to her so strong, because hers wasn't tainted with ambition. She wasn't using him for money or fame.

 _It was incredible._

Tristan had always lusted over what money and power could bring him. It's why he worked so hard to build his investment management company to where it was, to the point where he was attempting to take over Vanguard. The influence of money and power dominated a majority of his life; the Guild is where his more altruistic and charitable side had been relegated to, and even that came with a type of power and position all on its own. For so long, it had never bothered him if women wanted to be with him for his fortune or name – either of them.

 _Until Ellie._

That she didn't know who he was, and yet still wanted him so badly was a type of influence he'd never felt before. The power of passion had spread through him like wildfire and he was struggling to remain in control; something he'd never had a problem with in the past when he knew that the woman interested in him, wasn't really interested _in him_ , only in what he could offer her. Ellie just wanted him.

 _Maybe that's why he couldn't help the explosive possessiveness that consumed him when he thought about her._

If he thought about it, _which he rarely liked to do_ , he'd built himself up and allowed himself to be 'used' because it just made everything easier for him. After his mom died, the pain of losing her, of losing the one person who loved him no matter what – good, bad, rich, poor, talented, etc.; that pain had hollowed him. So, he'd built his business, his persona, his artistic alter ego, and let the world fall in love with them, because if they didn't _know_ him, they couldn't love him, which meant that there was no risk that he would become similarly attached.

 _Until Ellie._

She didn't know Titian, and she hardly knew of Tristan Black, CEO of Black Box Investing, which meant that her attraction was an attraction to just Tristan.

 _She just wanted Tristan._

The power of that thought brought him to his knees.


	15. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Ellie stopped short outside One57, her head tipping back as she looked up to the top of the sky-scraper, a thrill of anticipation shooting through her; she'd been rushing through the week waiting for today. Looking back down at her phone, she realized she was ten minutes early.

 _Always early Ellie._

Her oncology nurses used to joke about it; she would always be early for her chemo appointments, always ready and waiting for the torture that was about to start. Most patients would hesitate, trying to prolong the inevitable by another minute or two, saying that 'they always make you wait at the doctor's office anyway,' but not Ellie. She let the cancer get ahead of her once because she 'prolonged the inevitable,' and since then, it was a comfort to be early; it was the one thing that she had control over during that whole ordeal.

This process, on the other hand, she felt her control slipping out of her grasp every second that she was in Tristan's presence. Her need to control everything had sprung from her experience with cancer and she was determined to be free of everything that that disease had caused in her life; she'd survived her cancer and she wasn't about to let her obsession with rules and control kill the rest of her life. She'd earned the ability to be free and spontaneous and, yes, sometimes stupid.

 _Which is probably what this was._

Opening her phone, she pulled up the message from Tristan yesterday; her body tingling as she re-read his words.

 _God, you are such an easy target._

She didn't care; he made her feel alive, and that, was a feeling that most people couldn't appreciate like she did. Ellie didn't just appreciate it, the feeling propelled her, begged her, for more. Tristan wasn't the first guy that she'd kissed or slept with, even after her hopefully-cured cancer. There'd been a few unsuccessful blind dates, sprung on her by friends that she had made while in the hospital and even after when she went for chemo. They didn't matter, what did matter is that she had some _small_ basis for comparison.

 _And there was no comparison._

No one had ever made her feel like Tristan did – beautiful, passionate, intriguing, alive. All of the emotions that coursed through her when she was with him, she welcomed them, encouraged them to overwhelm her. Being overwhelmed by them was a stark contrast to the stifled and muted feelings that her disease and its treatment had brought on her.

On the other hand, there was so much more about Tristan that she wanted to know. Just the fact that he was an incredible businessman according to Google, yet pursued his passion for art in private, was just inspiring to her; to have two things that he excels as and to be able to do them both – one publically and one privately, was amazing.

 _And here she was, struggling to become an international business consultant._

She loved to listen to him talk about his business, his art, because it motivated her. He'd grown up with a similar if not worse family situation that she had, and he'd managed to make so much out of it; there had to be hope for her. It wasn't just for inspiration that she was fascinated by his story; she was fascinated by him.

There was something else, something more to him and she just wished she knew the right questions to ask to get him to open up about it. Unsurprisingly, he usually managed to switch the topic of conversation back to her, but she'd been getting better at not letting that happen. Although, she was one to talk about wanting to know his secrets, when she was definitely unwilling to share her own.

The thought ripped a shudder from her body, causing her to drop her phone. Tristan could never know about her cancer, she thought, as she picked up her cell, checking to make sure it wasn't damaged. The image of his face, _his_ expression when he looked at her, when he watched and wanted her, when he lost control because of _her,_ were engrained in her mind and having him learn about her cancer would shatter that; he would never want her the same way again. Well, not that he wouldn't want her, but every look would be tainted with pity, with the need to coddle and protect, to not take advantage. She was tired of being babied.

 _She was a survivor._

And she needed to stop picturing that scenario in her head; he wasn't going to find out. She would do anything to make sure of it.

Opening up her phone, she returned to his messages from yesterday, warmth immediately spreading through her body. She'd reread them countless times in the last twenty-four hours, waiting for the thrill of anticipation to wear off; it hadn't.

She hadn't been completely honest in her text. She had been researching places to travel to, but only while she waited for her dad to be done with a meeting so that she could talk to him; she hadn't told him that she'd been feeling under the weather lately, and that Dr. Sion was going to run bloodwork if she didn't start to feel better. At first, she hadn't wanted to worry her dad – again. Now that it had been almost a week, her course of antibiotics almost finished, and not much sign of improvement, her fear was starting to get the best of her and she needed her dad. He'd always been her rock and even though she knew that he would tell her to not jump to conclusions, she needed to hear it from him in person.

All of that turmoil had been completely obliterated from her mind those few minutes that they had been texting. In those minutes, she was free – free from worry, free from cancer, free from fear, all thanks to Tristan. Sometimes, she felt guilty, as though she were using him, but it was like there was a shield around her when she was with him, or in contact with him, that eliminated all negative thoughts from her mind and eased her worried nerves; it was another reason that she, too, had counted down the minutes to this afternoon because it meant a few hours of relief from the constant and growing fear that she was headed into another battle for her life.

 _Eleven o'clock._

Ellie clicked off her phone and headed into the building, determined to be right on time today. Her heartbeat picking up speed as she approached his apartment door and knocked. She didn't know why, but she always held her breath waiting for the door to open.

"Good morning, Ellie," Tristan drawled from the open doorway.

"Good morning, Tristan," Ellie replied, a little breathlessly as the air she'd been holding in rushed out along with her words.

 _That, and the fact that the man always looked gorgeous, even if it was only in a pair of navy sweatpants and a white t-shirt._

Good thing she hadn't dress up either today, instead choosing to wear just jeans and a cold-shoulder sweater than still kept her arms covered, even though it had been pretty warm outside today; she couldn't take any chances.

"Are you ready for what today has in store?"

"I'm always ready," she countered with a grin as she entered into the familiar space. Although it wasn't too familiar today. The living room furniture had been completely rearranged. No, not rearranged, it had been removed to the far ends of the room. In place of where the large leather sofas and coffee table used to be was now a smaller settee covered in an off-white sheet. The rug and floor was also covered with a sheet and an impressively-sized easel sat dead center in the room, with a small wooden stool behind it.

 _He'd turned his living room into an art studio._

"Wow," she said, softly, "I see you've redecorated."

"Just for the short-term," he chuckled back, walking behind her and into the kitchen, "would you like some water? I also have tea and coffee and I might have gotten some chocolate chip muffins." The mention of muffins had Ellie's head jerk back to where he stood, her eyes widening with excitement. "I'll take that as a yes to the muffins," Tristan said, a smile breaking out over his face.

 _God, his smile always turned her insides to mush._

"Was it that obvious?" she replied with a laugh, "and just water, please."

While he set about getting that for her, Ellie made her way over to the 'studio', eager to examine everything. The easel was simple and well-used; stray marks of what looked like charcoal and paint marred the edges of the wood behind the pristine piece of white paper that was attached and just begging to be tarnished with a masterpiece. Next to the wooden seat was a box of Faber-Castell sketching pencils, a box of Conté à Paris Natural Charcoal, and two boxes of Winsor & Newton Vine & Willow charcoal packs. She knew what charcoal was; she remembered using it in her sixth-grade art class, but she had a feeling that this charcoal was a little bit fancier than the kind that they had been given.

Ellie picked up one of the Winsor & Newton boxes, running the pad of her thumb over the charcoal sticks in the window of the box.

"Inspecting my tools?" Tristan's silken tenor melted over her back.

She carefully set the box back down before turning to face him, praying that her cheeks were only a slight pink.

"I told you I was interested," she replied sheepishly.

Ellie reached out her hands to take the glass and muffin from his, her right hand jerking back when she saw the charcoal dust staining her thumb. She quickly looked around for something to wipe it off on, about to bend down to use the drop-cloth on the floor when she felt Tristan's warm palm capture hers. She saw he had set the muffin and bottle of water down on his stool, in order to be able to take her hand.

Her eyes met his, watching their bright golden-brown begin to deepen into an aroused amber. Pulling her hand towards his waist, his eyes stayed locked on hers as he pulled the edge of his t-shirt away from his body, using the crisp, white fabric to wipe off the remnants of black dust from her finger.

"You didn't have to –" Ellie began, feeling guilty that he'd dirtied his shirt unnecessarily.

"Ellie," he cut her off, sternly, "if you think this shirt was going to come away from this afternoon unscathed, you are sorely mistaken; it's charcoal – it gets everywhere, trust me."

Ellie bit her lip and gave him a grateful smile as he rubbed over the pad of her thumb a few seconds longer than needed, letting the small sparks from their minimal contact travel through her body.

Her hand finally free, finger thoroughly cleaned, Ellie picked up her water and muffin from the stool where he had set them.

"Thank you," she mumbled, heading over to the couch that he'd pulled over to but up against the chairs in the dining room. She sat down on the soft leather, opening the bottle of water and taking a sip before she set her focus to unwrapping the muffin.

"How was your week? How did the rest of your research go?" Tristan asked.

"Pretty good," Ellie replied, a little too enthusiastically for having a giant bite of muffin in her mouth.

Tristan let out a bark of laughter at the jumbled mess that her words came out as. Ellie quickly reached up to cover her mouth as she laughed too, trying to swallow her bite before she did something even more embarrassing, like choke on her food.

"Please tell me you've had a chocolate chip muffin before," Tristan teased.

"Yes," she shot back, tempted to stick her tongue out at him for that one. Ellie set the remainder of the muffin down on the drop cloth, taking another sip of water to wash the delicious sugary rush down.

"How was the rest of your week?" she countered.

"Fine. Busy," came his non-descript response.

"What are you working on?" she pressed, "Sorry, I'm not too familiar with what you actually do… besides the art stuff that is."

"Art stuff?" he laughed, taking a seat on the wooden stool in front his easel, "Well, aside from the 'art stuff,' my company is in the process of acquiring another large investment management corporation. We've been in talks the past several months, but now that I'm back in the office, we're trying to close the deal."

"What do you mean, 'back in the office'? Where were you?" Ellie asked.

 _Shit –this is what happens when you get too comfortable, Tristan; you make mistakes._

"I was out of town taking care of some other business," he responded swiftly, his tone giving Ellie the impression that that was all he was going to say on the matter.

"Were you anywhere interesting? I have a couple places that I think are going to be first on my list." The mention of her travel list brought a smile back to his face.

"No, unfortunately not this time. So, where are you going to go?"

"Well," she began, biting her lip, "I looked at a couple big names that I've always wanted to go to, like London, Paris, Rome – but, I think I'd actually like to start with Ireland."

"Ireland? Really? I wasn't expecting that," Tristan replied, his eyes widening when she mentioned the Celtic country.

 _Ireland was a pretty good choice in his book; he'd love to see her take in the views there, and all the old castles; plus, they had great tax laws he could take advantage of…except, you aren't going with her, Tristan. What are you thinking?_

Tristan shook his head, annoyed by the thoughts plaguing him. He didn't want to think about not being here. He wanted to see her experience the world, he wanted to watch the looks of awe and wonder come over her face when she saw how much it had to offer.

 _You know that's not possible._

"Well, I was on Pinterest looking through the travel section and I came across a bunch of just absolutely gorgeous photos; all of the greens just look incredible, not to mention all the old ruins and castles," Ellie enthused, excitement written all over her face and in her voice.

Tristan just stared at her, wishing this circumstance was different than it was; wishing that taking her there wasn't an impossibility by the time all was said and done. She'd never want to see him again, let alone go anywhere with him.

"Have you ever been there?" she continued, "that's a dumb question, I'm sure that you have."

Tristan smiled in response. "You'll enjoy it. It's one of the most beautiful countries I've ever been to – the architecture, the culture, the people, and yes, all of the greens. Although, none that I saw were as vibrant as your eyes," he admitted, voice deepening on his last complement.

Ellie felt the blush rising in her cheeks, just as the heat rose in her body.

"You know, I'm not even Irish," Ellie responded with a nervous laugh, "people assume it a lot because of the hair, but we're not Irish that I know of – just British and German. I guess I'll fit in pretty well there though."

"Interesting, and yes, you will."

"Did you go there for business?" Ellie mused, unable to resist taking another bite of the muffin still in front of her.

"Yes."

 _Or something along those lines. Two years ago, the Guild chose to host their exhibit at the British National Gallery, but decided to have their auditions in Ireland, so they'd spend a few weeks on the Emerald Isle._

"Honestly, it had me thinking about moving there for a little while. Plus, it would be so close to Europe that I could travel elsewhere easily and cheaply if I wanted…" she trailed off as she saw Tristan's gaze darkening.

 _She couldn't leave; she couldn't live there; he wouldn't let her._ No, she actually can, Tristan, because she's not yours. Hell, you're going to break her so bad that she'll probably want to move to Ireland just to get as far away from you as possible. _You have to let her go if you want your mom back._

"You would enjoy it," was all he could force himself to bite out, turning away from her towards his easel, reaching down to pick up a box of charcoals.

Ellie quickly took one last sip of water, recognizing that Tristan wanted to get started. She set the bottle down on the floor as she stood, moving hesitantly towards the covered settee.

"Where do you want me?" she asked, turning to face him. Ellie watched as his gaze traveled up the full length of her, the gold flecks in his eyes shimmering with appreciation.

 _Underneath me,_ he thought, but instead answered, "You can just sit and relax on the couch," nodding towards the seat behind her.

Sitting down on the settee, Ellie crossed her ankles, and began to run her fingers through her hair.

 _Did she even look ok? Did she have chocolate around her mouth?_

Wishing she had a mirror, Ellie absentmindedly tried to tame her waves before forcibly clasping her hands in her lap. She looked around the room, biting her lip as she a wave of nervous nausea rolled through her – the muffin may or may not have been the only thing she had eaten this morning.

She didn't even know why she was so nervous; he'd drawn her before. Ok, maybe not with her sitting right in front of him, but so what?

"Ellie," she heard Tristan's sharp voice break through her thoughts, her gaze snapping back to his, " _Relax._ "

She took a deep breath, giving him a small nod, trying to abide by his instructions.

"Ok," Tristan began, seeing in her posture and body language that she was definitely still not relax, "I'm just going to have you talk to me, can you do that?"

"Sure," she said, swallowing hard.

 _Seriously, Ellie, just relax._ She was frustrating herself right now; why was this such a big deal? She should be used to having people look at her by now.

 _Exactly._

The only other times that someone had looked at her this intently was when she was in the hospital, or undergoing chemo. The nervousness that came along with it was conditioned, always wondering if everything was ok; were they looking at her because something bad at happened? Did they see a new sign or symptom that the cancer was progressing? Were they wondering how to tell her the bad news that the first round of drugs wasn't strong enough and that they had to up the dosage on the chemo that already felt like it was going to kill her?

"Ellie, what are you thinking about?" Tristan asked her softly.

Realizing that her gaze had dropped from his, probably in an unconscious effort to hide the tears forming in her eyes, she looked back up at the God-like man sitting before her, his golden gaze thoroughly assessing her.

"Nothing," she began, realizing that it didn't sound convincing at all, so she clarified, "just about my past; how I got here, it all seems so crazy." She tried to finish with a laugh, but even the laugh came out sad. She watched as his gaze on her narrowed, his hand beginning to glide lightly over the paper. She heard the soft murmur of the charcoal etch across the pristine canvas. Her brow furrow slightly, wondering why he would possibly begin drawing now when she was so tense and upset.

Taking stock of herself though, she realized that it wasn't just her gaze that had shifted when her mind drifted back to her years battling cancer. Her hands had become unlinked, one coming up to rest her fingers by her mouth, absentmindedly rubbing her thumbnail over her lower lip. Her ankles had uncrossed, on leg had moved up underneath her seat, while the other still draped off the edge of the settee.

Even though the thoughts had been sad and emotional, they'd removed the rigidness from her posture.

"Why do you feel helpless about your past?" Tristan asked discerningly, "I know the look of helplessness all too well…"

"How…" _How did he know that is what she felt? How was he so familiar with that expression?_

"When my mom passed away, well let's just say helpless was a common emotion of mine for many years before and after her death," he answered, his voice thick with emotion, "she suffered for a long time and when you watch someone that you love agonize for so long, knowing there is nothing you can do to help them, it tears you down, piece by piece. Of course, you try to be strong because what is what you are feeling compared to what they are dealing with. Only when they are finally gone, you realize that hollowness surrounding you is too vast to repair and that you have no strength left to stand."

Ellie's eyes widened, immediately filling with tears at his heartfelt answer, truly surprised he'd revealed so much to her, so easily. Everything that he said was true; she had seen it in her father's face every day that he took her to the hospital for testing, or took her for chemo, or took care of her in the weeks following treatment when she thought she truly would have preferred death. She saw the toll that it had taken on him, the only difference was that she had survived it; Tristan's mother hadn't been so fortunate.

"I'm so sorry, Tristan" she began, "what about your dad? Was he…"

Tristan scoffed before she could even get the words out, "there's one of the many reasons we no longer talk. The man lost his wife, but his son was still there, still alive, not that it made a bit of difference to him. No, the day she died, she might as well have taken him along with her; it would have probably been easier that way, knowing there was a reason he couldn't be there for me. Instead, I lived every day with a man that wouldn't be there for me and that conscious choice makes all the difference."

"I'm so sorry," Ellie said again, softly, "I'm sure it was very difficult for you both, have you tried to talk –" She tried to continue the train of conversation between them, but he cut her off, and she'd seen it coming. As she began her last sentence, she watched as Tristan appeared startled by the ease and openness with which he just responded to her; he looked as shocked as she was by his brief moment of soul-baring honesty. She wanted to ask what had happened to her, to his mother. From the way he spoke about her and her death, it sounded like she had also struggled with cancer or a similar disease.

Her window to question him began to closed quickly, his face quickly masking the enormity of the pain he had just let flow out of him, his eyes narrowing on the canvas in front of him, focusing on the distinct lines that his hand seemed to be drawing on auto-pilot.

"I want to know why you feel helpless about your past; I'm not the subject here," he interjected sternly, the last statement more of a reminder to himself to stay focused on the task in front of him.

Ellie bit her lip, her head dropping down again as she tried to think about how to answer honestly without being completely honest.

"I…umm…had to deal with a situation after college where I felt helpless; a situation that controlled my life for a long time to the point where the fact that I'm sitting here, with you, trying to be a model, is just beyond what I ever thought myself capable of."

Her words came out slow and hesitant, but distinctly heartfelt; they were all true – non-descript, but true, and she could see from his expression that he believed her.

"A relationship?" Tristan pried further.

 _Well…_

"I guess you could call it that," she replied.

She knew she was leading him to a different conclusion, but she had no choice; technically speaking she had been in a relationship with her disease.

"Abusive?" he ground out tightly. Tristan felt his jaw clenching as he barely got the word out of his mouth. He tried to stay focused on the drawing in front of him, instead of on the rage that was building inside of him at the thought of someone hurting Ellie. His hand moved furiously trying to capture the soft planes of her face that were marred by the sadness of her memories.

Funny how this type of portrait, this expression, had never bothered him before – and he'd heard some pretty sad and terrible stories come from the other side of his easel. Before, he'd empathized, of course, but secretly relished in their sadness and his ability to bring it out because it was such a beautifully expressive emotion for him to capture; he'd felt bad for feeling it but sadness made for exceptional art. Over time, even that guilt had faded, and in these moments, he usually felt like he was a therapist, bringing out the most painful memories of his subjects in order to observe and capture their response.

This time though, it felt like a knife twisting in his gut. The blade paused its torture, waiting for her to answer his question, waiting for the bomb to drop; her hesitation already told him what he knew the answer to be, what he feared, and yet he clung to the shred of hope that he was mistaken. Secretly begging to be wrong so that he wouldn't have to live with the knowledge that the beautiful, smart, strong woman sitting in front of him had been taken advantage of and mistreated.

 _If she had been in a relationship with cancer, it certainly hurt her physically, broke her down mentally and emotionally, and taken almost everything from her; if that wasn't the definition of abusive, she didn't know what was._

"Yes…" she admitted softly, her eyes focusing on the clenched fists in her lap, unable to meet his gaze knowing that what she said was true, but yet still a lie.

 _Snap!_

Ellie jumped at the sound of the piece of charcoal snapping in Tristan's hand. Her gaze flew to him, only to find his eyes boring into hers, with an intense possessiveness that no one would mistake. When her eyes finally blinked, she felt the warm splatter of the tears that had been collecting in her eyes drop onto her hands. Before she could stop it, the cool crawl of a tear began to make its way cautiously down her cheek; she hadn't even realized she was so close to crying.

She could see the severe mix of emotions battling within him – possessiveness, rage, concern. He hadn't even flinched when the piece of charcoal snapped, his eyes remaining locked on her. He still held half of the charcoal inside of his fist, knuckles white with the force with which he was clenching.

The one tear was his undoing. The ones that had fallen into her lap had been unnoticeable, but the one that began its solitary trek down the side of her cheek, that one he saw. She watched his eyes darken as he focused in on it, his jaw clenching with restrained anger.

Tristan dropped the piece of charcoal down on the floor. He stood and cautiously made his way over to her; they were both so emotionally on edge, not only with sadness and anger, but with the intense attraction that was a constant burn between them.

Ellie watched, eyes wide, as Tristan dropped to his knees in front of her. He gazed at her with painful tenderness, his hand slowly coming up to wipe the lone tear from her face; his thumb leaving a smudge of dark dust underneath her eye.

" _God,_ you are incredible," he murmured, the gold in his eyes coming alive.

She knew he wondered, knew that he was bound to ask – 'who was he?' or 'what did he do to you?' She didn't have any answers for him and she didn't want to lie to him anymore. His proximity made her brain struggle to function; all she could think about was his hot, hard body kneeling in front of her, just inches and an invitation away from making her – making them both forget about everything that had just happened.

 _She wasn't going to waste the opportunity._

"Tristan," she whispered his name, shivering as the syllables swirled over her skin, "kiss me."

It was a plea; it was a demand; it was a supplication.

 _It was all it took._

Golden fireworks blazed in his eyes as his fingers firmly gripped her chin, holding her face steady for one last moment before his lips took hers.


	16. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

There were so many things he wanted to know, but nothing could stop him from answering her kiss. He knew that for her, each kiss was a question, a question of whether he wanted her, whether he desired her, whether she was enough, and those questions, those kisses, were something that he would be happy to spend his whole life answering.

The first touch of his lips to hers sent blood pumping vigorously through his body, much of it pooling in his lower regions. He couldn't go slowly – he was too angry. He was angry at whomever had abused Ellie; he was angry at her for falling right into his plans and opening herself up to him so easily, he was angry at her for being her father's daughter, but mostly he was angry at himself – not just for caring so much about her and what had happened to her, but at the fact that if he stuck to his plan, he would use and abuse her in just as horrible a way. The thought fueled a battle inside of him that he'd never experienced before – wanting to protect and destroy her at the same time. The battle tore him up inside and the only thing that seemed to stop it was being able to touch her, to kiss her.

 _Being with her made him forget everything; it gave him peace._

And for some reason, he felt that it did the exact same thing for her. Whatever her battles were, she wanted to escape them just as much as he did.

Consequently, their kiss quickly ignited between them. Their mouths melded, drinking deeply from one another, removing the pain and sadness and anxiety from their past and their present; there was nothing except the two of them and their kiss.

Soon enough, Ellie's arms were wrapped around Tristan's neck, both of his hands securing her face so that he could explore every inch of her sweet mouth, tasting away every remnant of the salty sweet tears that had contaminated it.

Ellie moaned against him, shifting so that her leg that had been bent up on the couch to now relax down over the edge, placing Tristan directly between her thighs; breathing became an afterthought, chests brushing with their frantic, stifled breaths. Tristan groaned as he felt the hard peaks of her nipples tortuously crashing against his chest as she gasped in air.

His hands dropped down from her face, locking onto her hips yanking her to the edge of the couch to bring her completely flush up against him. She was on fire. It was like he'd pulled himself up against a burning flame, the white-hot center of which was less than an inch of clothing away from his raging erection. With her firmly pressed against him, his hands greedily continued their course, sliding up underneath her shirt, over the flat, silken planes of her stomach until he reached her breasts. He wanted to get her bra off, to feel the supple skin underneath his fingertips but as soon as his hands covered the engorged mounds, they had to pause.

A groan rumbled deep in his chest as he palmed her breasts through the thinly padded fabric of her bra, massaging the aching flesh, relishing as she arched her chest into his touch, craving more.

 _And he was happy to oblige._

In a flash, his hands skated up to dislodge the straps of her bra from her shoulders, yanking the offending garment down underneath the generous swells of her breasts, propping them up for him do with as he pleased. Ellie gasped, her mouth pulling back from his, needing more air as he gently ran the back of his knuckles over her sensitively erect nipples.

Tristan smiled, watching the sensation of exquisite torture pass over her face as he toyed firm peaks, rubbing circles over them, gently tugging them between his knuckles. He watched as Ellie bit her lip, her head slightly tipped back as she tried to control the desire that was rocketing through her. His eyes widened as he eyed the openly pristine expanse of her neck now within his reach. His mouth dropped to the tender skin that was vibrating wildly with her pulse, letting his tongue feel the frantic pumping of blood trying to satisfy every stimulated cell.

His cock hardened and strained even further against pants that he'd always considered as pretty forgiving. Everything about her was exquisite. Every expression was as if he'd awakened something in her that she'd never experienced before and that turned him on like nothing he'd ever experienced before.

 _The thought of having her to himself all day, every day, was enough to drive him insane. All he wanted to do was watch her face as he pleasured her, as he made her feel things that she'd never felt before, that no one had made her feel before._

As much as he wanted fulfillment, the power and gratification of watching her was even more satisfying.

 _For now._

He shuddered, unable to even imagine just how incredible being inside of her was going to be.

 _But that's not today._

No, now he was showing her just how much she wanted him, needed him…and hoping that he didn't lose complete control in the process.

Tristan sucked hard on her neck as he pulled on the hard buds of her nipples. Ellie's moans became a rhythmic beat that he found his hips swaying to; pressing his erection into the soft center of her core, wishing that there was no barrier between them as he ached to feel her wet center against his engorged penis.

 _Fuck, he needed more._

His hands precipitously dropped her tender breasts, roughly grabbing the fabric of her shirt and lifting it over her chest to expose her to his ravenous gaze. Tristan felt his mouth salivate as his eyes finally beheld the engorged baby pink tips of her breasts just begging to be tasted. The supple mounds pushed up from her bra, full and firm, aching to be feasted on.

With one arm behind her back, Tristan arched her back against the settee, putting her breasts directly in his gaze. His free hand moved to cup one of the precious mounds, his thumb rolling over her nipple, torturing her and himself for another minute longer.

" _Tristan,_ " she moaned, imploring his touch.

He drank in one last image of her – a mental snapshot that he would put to paper later, when this moment would replay over and over in his memory. The vision of her etched into his mind just as she thrust her hips against his in frenzied and impatient desire, his vision turning a searing red with lust. He didn't need to see though, he just needed to feel her. His head bent to her unattended breast, immediately drawing her nipple into his mouth, pulling the silken bud strongly into his mouth, barely registering her deep moan of satisfaction or her hands as they thread through his hair.

 _Fuck, he couldn't get enough._

Again and again he sucked on her while his hand teased and tweaked her other nipple. Ellie writhed uncontrollably underneath him as he gently bit and kissed her tender skin; each time she jerked against him, against his swollen erection, Tristan saw stars.

 _This was about to be the second time in his entire life where he got off on dry humping if he didn't switch things up soon._

He reluctantly let her nipple escape from the prison of his mouth. His head raised to look down at Ellie again. Another jolt of lust searing through him when he saw how his mouth had turned her soft pink peak into a vibrant red bud. Tristan groaned, aching and eager to turn those same attentions to her other breast. Holding the mound up with his hand, his head dove again to take her other breast firmly between his lips. This time, though, before he caused any more torture to his engorged flesh, his hand left her breast dropping straight to the apex of her thighs.

The heat of her core burned straight through the jeans she was wearing and he knew that she would be soaking wet underneath.

 _Not yet._

Focusing on the sweet skin in his mouth, he ground the palm of his hand into her center as he sucked on her, savoring the feel of her, not only in his mouth, but the thrusting of her hips against his palm, begging for release.

With his hand holding her hips steady, Ellie's shirt began to ride down back over her breasts.

 _Why hadn't he taken this fucking thing off yet?_

Growling in frustration, he released her breast, both of his hands coming up over her beautifully red and aroused chest, to grab ahold of the edge of her shirt, attempting to tug the offending material off over her head.

For a second, Ellie went along with the movement, aroused to the point of distraction, she adjusted to make the process easier.

"Raise your arms," Tristan instructed harshly, fighting the urge to just rip the damn thing off of her.

His words brought her back into the reality of the moment, her eyes shooting open.

 _He couldn't take off her shirt; he would see the scars from all of the needles._

Her arms immediately dropped, her hands coming down to grab an open edge of her shirt, trying to tug it down.

"Please, no, leave it on," she begged, frantically tugging it down. His hands immediately stopped, releasing her shirt. His brow furrowed in confusion as he stared at her, seeing the concern and fear in her eyes.

 _What the fuck just happened?_

Tristan was in shock and he knew that shock was written all over his face.

 _KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK._

Their heads immediately swiveled towards the loud banging coming from Tristan's front door.

 _What in the actual fuck was happening right now?_

"Tristan! We need to talk. Open the door!" Sloane yelled from the other side.

 _Ah, Christ._

"Who is that? What's going on?" Ellie asked breathlessly, the moment between them completely shattered.

When he looked back to her, she'd already begun rearranging her clothes; her beautiful breasts already covered by her bra. She inadvertently arched against him and his still painfully erect cock, as she tried to readjusted her shirt back down. Tristan bit off a moan, wincing as the mix of pain and pleasure shot through him.

"Tristan! I know you're in there. We need to talk and I will do it through the door if I have to," Sloane continued, his voice rising.

"God dammit," Tristan spat, standing up from the floor, trying to arrange his painfully obvious, and obviously painful, erection as he made his was over to the door to his apartment.

He glanced over his should just as he got to the door to make sure that Ellie was completely covered, but no time to mention to her the smudges of charcoal that he'd left on her face and neck.

"What do you want, Sloane?" he asked, his voice deadly low as he yanked open the door to face his friend, his face dark with anger, frustration, and pent up desire.

Sloane might be quiet and adverse to conflict ninety-nine percent of the time, but when something bothered him, he was a force to be reckoned with. Long fuse, big bomb, some might say.

"What in the hell is the matter with you?" Sloane demanded of him, completely ignoring the look on his friend's face and the fact that Tristan was trying to block the doorway from his entrance; Sloane pushed past him anyway, continuing his speech. "I just saw Pierce and his face. What in God's name were you thinking punching him like that? You know he won't let this go; I don't know what's going on with this girl –" his voice came to a screeching halt as he realized that there was another person in the room, one who was standing awkward and silently privy to everything that he had just said.

Tristan's eyes were shooting daggers at his friend, for barging into his home, and carelessly revealing details about things he did _not_ want to explain to Ellie, especially since they involved her.

"Ellie," he said, his tone as sharp as a knife, "meet Sloane, one of my business partners." His eyes narrowed on Sloane, the look in them commanding his friend to diffuse this situation before he said too much more.

"Ellie, it's a pleasure to meet you," Sloane said, taking the hint and extending his hand and a cordial smile.

"Hi, I'm Ellie Carter, it's nice to meet you, too," Ellie responded quietly, even though she reached out and shook his hand without hesitation, maintaining confident eye contact.

Tristan felt his fists clench as their hands touched, an unconscious spasm of jealousy shooting through his.

 _Oh, for fuck's sake._

He purposefully flexed and released his fingers in annoyance at the unwanted feeling that passed through him. As soon as their hands released, Tristan watched as Ellie's eyes shot immediately back to him, her brow furrowing in confusion at what was going on.

"I…ahh… sorry, man. I didn't realize you were busy. I'll just come back later so we can talk," Sloane mumbled, his face starting to turn red.

"No, it's ok. I have to get going anyway," Ellie responded, interjecting before Tristan even had a chance to open his mouth.

 _This is not the way he had planned the day._

"No, Ellie, you stay. Sloane, I'll be in touch," Tristan said sharply, trying to steer the quickly derailing situation back on track.

"No, it's really ok, Tristan. I have an appointment anyway and I should probably leave now before I'm late," Elle continued in her normal, awkward style of rambling as she searched for her purse.

Tristan bit his tongue, not wanting to make any more of a scene in front of Sloane, but not wanting her to leave either.

 _God only knew what the man was already thinking._

 _God only knew what Ellie was thinking._

He watched helplessly as she put her shoes back on and gathered her things, wishing that he could make her stay. He saw her face just before Sloane's knock at interrupted them, and then, for her to have heard what Sloane said when he walked in – she must think him some sort of brute. His hand came up to his forehead, putting pressure on his temples in an attempt to calm the helpless anguish that was pounding in his head.

"Ellie," he said, his voice soft and low, his hand reaching out to grasp her arm, stopping her just as she reached the door, "I'll call you later, ok?"

"Sure," she responded pleasantly, but with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

 _Fuck, what had he done._

The frigidness of fear filled him at the thought that this might be the end. With a strength that he didn't know he had, he slowly released his hold on her arm, letting her walk out of his apartment, maybe out of his life, forever. For a moment, he just stared as the door closed behind her; he stared at the door lost in the debilitating thought.

"Tristan," Sloane began, his cool voice cracking through the cold shell of dread that had kept Tristan frozen.

Tristan's head turned slowly back to his friend, the reality of the situation coming back to him; red hot rage burned out of gaze and he saw that Sloane was taken aback by it. "What. Do. You. Want," Tristan bit out, unmoving lest he sever the last thread of control keeping him from punching a second friend in the face today.

"Hey," Sloane began, his hands coming up in mock submission, "look, man, I'm sorry. I didn't know you were with her or I wouldn't have barged in, you know that. I just figured if you were here, that meant no one else was because we never bring people back to our place…" Tristan listened as his friend trailed off nervously, his tone containing no traces of the anger and frustration that he had entered with.

" _Fuck,_ " Tristan sighed, letting the tension drain from him as he walked past Sloane into the kitchen.

Throwing open the cabinet, he set two glasses down on the counter. Reaching underneath to the display of liquor bottles he pulled out the bottle of Eagle Rare, opening the top and pouring a generous splash into both of the tumblers.

He turned to toss the second glass across the granite island towards Sloane, who captured it with a nod.

"What's going on, Tristan?" Sloane asked again.

Tristan downed the liquor in his glass, pouring himself another healthy serving before he turned completely to face his friend and face the questions that he knew he was going to have to answer.

"You're going to have to be a little more specific than that," he began, coolly. "I'm assuming you're here because of Pierce."

"Tris, you punched him. So, yeah, that's why I'm fucking here," Sloane responded, frustration making its way back into his tone. "You know I'm really fucking hate getting in the middle of you two and your petty shit, but you went too far.

Tristan knew as soon as he had punched Pierce, that it had been the wrong move. Unfortunately, he had made it and now he would have to deal with the consequences; however, he knew it was bad when Sloane felt like he had to get involved. Sloane hated confrontation and hated, even more so, getting in between the two of them and their competitive personalities. In spite of that, Sloane was here to reprimand him, which meant that he had royally fucked up.

"He deserved it," was all he could find to say.

"Well, no shit. He _always_ deserves it because he's Pierce, but since when does that mean that we actually act on it; he's a giant asshole, but that hasn't changed in the past seven…nine…however many years," Sloane replied, pissed at Tristan's poor justification.

"I know. Fuck, I know," Tristan agreed, running his hand through his hair as he took another swig of his whiskey. "I shouldn't have punched him. God, I don't know what came over me."

"What did he say?"

"You mean he didn't tell you," Tristan let out a disbelieving laugh.

"No, of course not; he doesn't even know that I'm here," Sloane began. "By the time that I saw him and asked him what happened to his face, he responded, _laughing_ , that you'd taken offense to his one eye. He was laughing about it Tris, that's not fucking normal."

 _Yeah, well, Pierce wasn't normal._

"Christ, I know it's bad, Sloane. I fucking know. I don't know what came over me. I'm dealing with a lot of shit and he just decided to drop in and fuel the fucking flames, which is pretty typical, I know, but this time he said something about Ellie that I'm not even going to repeat and I just lost it. It was like I watched myself punch him or something, like I wasn't even in control; the next thing I know, I realized what I did and I tried to stop him, but he left livid, obviously." Here, he paused, taking another sip of his drink, dropping his head down to let it hang between his arms that were propped up on the counter.

"What are you going to do?"

"I have no fucking clue. I need to talk to him obviously, but I don't know how that's going to happen before the competition, or if he will even let it happen."

"You need to figure out a way. You know how unstable he is, especially lately; if he goes off the deep end and does something to torpedo the Guild, it's going to be all on you, you know that, right?"

"Yeah, I know," Tristan snapped, "I know, I need to deal with him."

"Look, I didn't want to ask, but I have to," Sloane began hesitantly, finally taking his first, small sip of the liquor in front of him. "I heard the rumors from Morgan and then Pierce. Before, I didn't care because it was only affecting you and she was your business, but now this is affecting all of us. Who is this girl, Ellie? What is going on between the two of you?"

 _Fuck._ He knew this was coming.

"She's my model for the competition piece."

"Then why would you punch Pierce over her? Why would you bring her to your apartment?" Sloane asked, exasperated. "I'm not an idiot, Tris."

He knew Sloane wouldn't leave without answers, it was just a matter of what answers to give him that forced him to pause and think.

"I brought her here because I knew Pierce would be stalking out my studio space and I'm still pissed at that motherfucker for losing my mom's portrait – the whole reason I had to search for another model in the first place."

 _Completely plausible, only partially true – the makings of a successful lie._

"Right. Ok, I get that; I know how it is between you two when it comes to these things, but why did you punch him? Who gives a shit what he says?"

"I told you… I don't know what came over me. I… _fuck,_ " he paused to drain the rest of his whiskey, "a part of me might have started to care about her, that's fucking why. Are you happy now?"

Sloane's eyes widened at his admission and Tristan knew exactly why. This had never happened before; this wasn't who they were and they took precautions to keep it that way, and yet somehow, awkward Ellie had slipped through the cracks and into his heart.

"I see…" Sloane said softly, clearing his throat.

"What? No comment? No criticism? Nothing to say now?" Tristan demanded.

"What do you want me to say, Tris? I'm not Pierce; I'm not going to ream you out for having feelings for someone. That is your prerogative. Yeah, I'm super fucking shocked, that's for damn sure, but no, I don't really have anything to say about it other than, as much as it's going to suck, you need to talk to Pierce and give him a reason for why you picked this girl over your friendship with him, because you know that's what he is thinking. Whether what you tell him is the truth or not, is none of my business; what is my business is the Guild, and making sure that neither of you fuck that up for the rest of us."

Tristan sighed in resignation. Of course, Sloane wouldn't berate him for this; that would be way too far out of character for him. Out of all of them, Sloane was the most adult about his emotions and how to handle them appropriately; his issues were buried much farther from the surface.

"What do I do?" Tristan asked, unsure if the question meant about Pierce or about his feelings for Ellie.

 _Or both._

"You need to talk to Pierce and yeah, he's going to be a dick about it, but one, he's a dick about everything and two, you _did_ punch him. Yeah, he's pissed, but we're all he has and he'll get over it even if he makes you suffer for a little while."

Tristan nodded, his mouth thinning in silent acknowledgement of his agreement.

"As for Ellie…" Sloane continued, as if he knew that Tristan was just as lost when it came to that situation as well. "No one ever said that we couldn't have feelings. I can't speak for Pierce, but someday, I'd like to be able to care about a woman like that." Tristan watched as a shudder wracked his friend's body when he made that last statement – an external symptom of the trauma that Sloane buried far down inside. "I'm not going to judge you for it; I don't think any of us really are unless you let it come between us, that is when it becomes a problem. If you are struggling with your feelings for her then maybe you should talk to someone about it. I don't know that I have enough experience to be that person, but what I do know is that fighting those feelings, when they do come, makes for a very lonely life." Sloane's face went dark with intense pain and sadness as the shadow of his past crossed over his face.

"I'll talk to Pierce," Tristan said, switching gears back to the original topic as it seemed that the conversation was going deeper than either of them were comfortable with right now.

"Thanks," Sloane nodded, pushing his glass away from him, "I'll get out of your hair then."

Tristan followed his friend back over to the entryway.

"Sorry again for barging in. Hope I didn't cause too much of a problem," Sloane apologized, his mild-mannered temper regaining control.

 _He hoped so too._

"Don't worry about it."

"Good luck with Pierce… and with Ellie," Sloane said, his brows furrowing as he mentioned her name. "Wait, she said her name was Ellie Carter." The thought sparked a cascade connecting the dots of the deeper relationship going on.

 _Fuck._

It came out more as a statement than a question, but Tristan heard the gears working in his tone and saw the expression on his face clear when he made the connection. Sloane wasn't an idiot; he knew who had Tristan's mom's portrait and now he knew Ellie's full name.

"Thanks for stopping by," Tristan said in response, choosing to treat his friend's words as a statement that didn't require an answer.

Sloane stared at him for a moment longer, recognition dawning on his face, oscillating between verbalizing his realization or not; he chose not.

"Yeah, sure. Don't let this ruin everything," were Sloane's parting words as he walked out of the apartment.

Superficially, it would seem that 'this' meant the argument with Pierce, but Tristan also wasn't an idiot; 'this' meant whatever else was going on with Ellie because of her father that Tristan hadn't chosen to confide in him. Even though it sounded like a plea, Sloane meant it as far more than that; it was a warning. Tristan was playing a dangerous game that he'd chosen to keep from the rest of them, which meant that he alone was solely responsible for putting the Guild at risk.

 _No, he was risking two of the most important things to him – his heart and the Guild, with the full knowledge that when all was said and done, only one of those things was going to make it out unscathed._


	17. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Ellie stood on the sidewalk outside the entrance to Central Park, trying for the life of her to remember how she had gotten here. Everything after she had walked out of Tristan's apartment was a blur. Her senses taking a back seat to voices from her memory:

 _'What in God's name were you thinking punching him like that?'_

 _'I don't know what's going on with this girl…'_

The other guy…Sloane…his voice kept repeating over and over again as her mind scrambled to try and process everything that had just happened in the span of what could have only been two minutes, probably even less.

Most of her anxiety had come from the fact that in her desire for him, she'd almost let Tristan take off of her shirt. Of course, she'd oversteered when trying to correct the situation; instead of finding some other way to distract him, she'd freaked out and told him 'no,' probably with a 'deer-in-headlights' look written all over her face.

 _Awesome._

If he wasn't suspicious before, he definitely would be now.

It was actually a Godsend that his friend had barged in when he had, distracting Tristan, at least for the time being, from how she had responded; it had also given her the perfect excuse to escape. As soon as her sympathetic, fight-or-flight, system had kicked in, realizing that Tristan was trying to take off her shirt and would see her scars, her body had gone into overdrive, acutely aware of everything in the room including how it seemed to be running out of oxygen.

She'd put on a good face though when he'd introduced her to Sloane.

 _Then again, when you're going through chemo and every person asks you how you are doing, you get pretty proficient at persuasively pretending to be ok._

 _Oh God…_

The thought reminded her that she had lied to Tristan. Now, he thought she'd been in an abusive relationship with someone. She'd panicked; he'd so suddenly opened up about his mom, she'd wanted to return the show of trust, but now, she was wondering if in her white lied attempt to be forthcoming, she'd set the stage for things to be worse in the future.

 _It wouldn't make that big of a difference, right?_

If she ever decided to share the full truth with Tristan, he would be glad that it wasn't a person who had actually abused her.

 _Right?_

Ellie gnawed on her lip nervously hoping that that would be the case. For now though, having him see her as a survivor of abuse rather than a victim of cancer was a risky concession that she was willing to make.

What had surprised her though was that as soon as the elevator doors closed safely in front of her, all she could think about was what Sloane had said… and Tristan's face as he had said it. In the room, they could have been speaking Greek for all she knew; her heart had been racing, her head dizzy and light headed, first from the close-call with Tristan, and then having to frantically put herself back together before someone walked in and got the wrong idea.

 _Although, from his knowing look, Tristan's friend seemed to know just what had been going on between them before he arrived._

What was weird though was that he had seemed most surprised by the fact that she was even there at all, not because of what he'd interrupted. She could have misread that though, there was no way seeing a strange woman in Tristan's apartment should come as a surprise to him… _does he know what Tristan looks like?!_

Outside the apartment, in the elevator, when the fog had cleared, what preoccupied her mind wasn't really any of this, it was what Sloane had said before he realized that she was standing right there.

 _Who was Pierce?_

 _Why did Tristan punch him?_

 _What did it have to do with her?_

That last was an assumption. Of course, he could have been referring to another girl, but it just didn't seem likely, especially from the way that his face had flushed when Tristan introduced them.

Ellie racked her brain, wondering who this 'Pierce' was and what he could have possible done that involved her to provoke Tristan to punch him. She stared into the park for a few more minutes, her thoughts bustling about in her head, each with its own goal in mind, just like the people moving all around her.

Her phone buzzed and immediately she jumped to the thought that it was Tristan. Fumbling to open the screen, she pulled up her notifications only to realize that it was an email reminder for the appointment with her oncologist this coming Friday. She swallowed hard, wanting to believe that she'd started to feel better with antibiotics and new medication, but forcing herself to realistically admit that there hadn't been much improvement. Especially this morning, maybe it was just from being on edge physically, and then stressed emotionally, but everything after Sloane had entered the apartment and Tristan had introduced her, had been a blur; there was a point where she wasn't sure if she was going to make it out of the apartment upright, the lightheadedness and nausea had been so overwhelming. She'd fought through it, surviving until she reached the privacy of the elevator which allowed her to sit with her head between her knees for those few critical seconds to right the blood flow to her brain. Getting outside into the brisk air and walking, putting distance between herself and the situation helped, too.

Looking at the email again, she felt like she was confirming a sentencing hearing, instead of a doctor's appointment – whether she got life or death remained to be seen. The thought that her cancer might have relapsed rolled another wave of nausea through her.

 _Could she do this again?_

She wasn't sure that she could; she'd tried to stay hopeful, researching new jobs, new places to travel to, but the dark specter of her disease lingered after every optimistic thought.

 _One week._

That was the only thing left that she could count on; she had one week to live in ignorance, in bliss. She had one week before the rest of her life was decided and if she was honest, she didn't care who this Pierce guy was or what Tristan did to him possibly because of her; she knew how he made her feel and that was enough.

She deleted the reminder email from her phone, putting it back in her purse. Finally, with her heartbeat and nerves returning to normal, she turned and hailed a cab to head home wondering, in spite of everything, if it was wrong to hope that Tristan would call her soon.

Tristan ran both of his hands over his face as soon as Sloane left; the pressure over his tense facial muscles, the coldness of his fingers, a small, momentary relief before his brain ignited with thought.

 _Damage control._

Tristan strode back into the kitchen, feeling every cell vibrating angrily within him. He picked up his and Sloane's glasses, about to toss them in the dishwasher when he realized that Sloane's was basically untouched.

 _He barely ever drank alcohol, but they always offered it to him anyway; it was just one of his things._

Tristan knocked back the rest of his friend's glass, probably another good shot and a half, at least, enjoying the burn of the liquid washing down his throat.

 _This was turning into a fucking shit show._

The worst part was that as soon as Sloane left, all he could think about was Ellie – not the Guild, not fixing things with Pierce, none of it; all he could picture was her frightened face when he went to remove her shirt.

 _It didn't make any sense._

For some reason, wanting to take off her shirt had gone too far, even though he'd seen pretty much everything underneath it already. And the fear that had been in her eyes, it wasn't fear of him hurting her or taking advantage of her, no, it was almost a protective fear, like she had hidden something that he was about to find.

At that moment, the sketch he'd been working on before Sloane's interruption caught his eye still standing in the living room, her face calling out to him. Tristan didn't even remember what he'd drawn; his hand had been moving, his eyes darting back and forth between her and the canvas, yet he'd been mostly watching her, entranced. Even now, he felt the tingling paralysis recollecting the sadness that had consumed her, the breath taken out of him by the intensity of her helplessness. His fists clenched as he dragged them off of the kitchen counter, letting himself be drawn over to her portrait.

 _Holy fuck._

What he'd drawn was even more than what he thought. He sat back down on the stool, legs weak as sadness and anger clashed within him at the sight of her face.

 _Beautiful._

Even in sadness, Ellie's face was exquisite; not the superficial characteristics of her features, even though they were breathtaking to him, but the way those features seemed to perfectly express what she was feeling. There was no mask, no poker-face, no attempt to hide out of embarrassment – all things that he usually had to deal with and breakthrough in order to capture.

 _Not Ellie._

His fingertips lightly traced over the lines that captured her face. Her expression, her eyes, it was as if his fingers could feel the tears that she'd shed even though the paper was completely dry.

Absentmindedly, his fingers pulled back, reaching up to brush his cheek, startled by the wetness he felt. Rubbing his thumb and forefinger together, Tristan realized that just looking at even his rough sketch of Ellie had brought tears to his eyes, the drop of liquid dissolving some of the charcoal stains left on his fingertips. What she had said – _no,_ how she had looked, had touched something so deep inside of him, something that he had forgotten even existed. He'd never opened up to anyone about his mom like that, especially someone that he arguably barely even knew. Yet, looking at her, was like looking in a mirror. The pain that she had been feeling, he'd known too well, and in that moment, a part of him couldn't let her feel like she was alone.

That was what had struck him – not just the look of resigned helplessness, but that she seemed intent on bearing that burden alone. It had opened the floodgates of memories he'd managed to bury a long time ago; he'd buried them because, like her, he'd been alone – his mother was gone, his father was dealing with the same trauma that he was and couldn't find it in himself be there for Tristan, and his friends…well, it had just seemed like too much to ask of them at the time. So, he'd taken all of his pain and locked it away and it had worked perfectly, until Ellie, until her loneliness reached down to the depths of his.

He'd opened up about his mom, the flood of emotions so intense that he'd quickly recoiled, turning the conversation back to her; at least he'd said enough for her to know just how much he empathized with her.

Tristan felt another tear roll down his cheek, purposefully ignoring it. That was the difference between them, Ellie embraced her sadness, she let herself cope with it, and perhaps that was why she was so incredibly beautiful to him – because she had the courage to face her emotions, no matter how painful, whereas he'd decided to go through life following an 'out-of-sight, out-of-mind' principle.

 _She was brave; she was beautiful._

His eyes finally focused back on her face in front of him, his vision blurring while all of those thoughts had traversed his brain. Next came the anger over what she had gone through, at who had done this to her.

 _Rage didn't even begin to describe it._

The thought dawned on him that maybe she'd wanted her shirt left on because the mother fucker had left scars; it sucked to think about, but it made sense. Tristan's finger pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to put those images out of his mind. Next time, he'd make sure that they had a relative cover of darkness and see if that helped to ease her concerns… for now. _Nothing_ would make her less beautiful to him, and she would know that by the time they were through; she would know it if he had to kiss every square inch of skin on her.

 _Something he would be more than glad to do._

Tristan wanted to kill whomever had done this to her, whomever had made her feel this way. He stood, afraid if he sat there any longer he would blindly destroy something in anger. If he ever got the chance, he would destroy whoever it was that tried to break her this way.

 _What if that person is you?_

The thought knocked all of the air out of him, like he'd just been kicked in the stomach.

His goal, the whole purpose of this piece, had been to break Ellie, to break her heart, and to become the very person that he currently wanted to murder.

 _Maybe it didn't need to end the way that he'd originally planned…_

He shuddered, unwilling to consider that thought, unwilling to admit just how much he'd been taken in by her.

 _Later. He'd deal with it later._

Thinking about his mom, remembering what had happened to him after she died was too overwhelming; he couldn't consider that he might care for Ellie just as deeply, not now. No, for now all he knew was that he wanted her to know her worth, and somewhere along the line that had come to mean proving his as well.

Blindly flipping the charcoal sketch pad closed, he stalked into the bedroom, grabbing his phone off of the dining room table along the way.

 _Was it too soon to call her?_

God, he sounded like a child.

 _Just fucking call her, Tristan. Get her to agree to see you again and fix this mess._

He paced the floor in front of his bed, staring out the giant windows over the city, but only seeing his reflection and the face of man gripped with uncertainty and fear that she wasn't going to pick up.

"Hello?" Ellie's breathless voice answered after the fourth ring.

Tristan stopped in his tracks, his heart finally starting to beat again. "Ellie," his voice broke on her name, "it's Tristan."

"Hi."

"Hey," he replied, his voice coming out a little smoother now, "I wanted to apologize for earlier; Sloane is usually a little more reserved than that."

"It's ok."

 _Fuck, this was not going well; she was barely responding._

"Are you busy tomorrow night?" he blurted out, "I want to take you somewhere." A second of silence seemed like an hour.

"Ok," she agreed, hesitantly.

Tristan could practically hear her biting her lip in thought and reservation. "Can you be here for around two?"

"That's fine."

"Wonderful," he said tightly, barely containing his relief. "And feel free to get dressed up; I'm taking you somewhere you've never been."

"Ok, I can do that," Ellie replied, the beginning of a smile and excitement permeating her response.

"I'll see you tomorrow."

"Tristan…" her voice trailed off, unsure if she wanted to ask what he knew she wanted to know.

"I can explain, Ellie," he interjected, making the decision for her, "I will explain. Just be here tomorrow."

"Ok."

He hung up the phone, immediately calling Donna; he didn't care what day of the week it was, and she didn't either for what he paid her.

"Donna, I need two tickets to 'Hamilton' tomorrow night at eight. Front row, center. I don't care how much or who you have to threaten to get them." Hanging up the phone, he tossed it onto the bed on his way into the bathroom.

 _Looks like today is going to be a two-shower kind of day._

He needed to go to the gym after this to work off some tension, but right now, he needed a very cold shower. Stepping right into the icy stream, he hissed as the water hit his body, trying to cool down the raging temperature that he'd worked up from desire, to anger, to uncertainty. After a few minutes, the cold effectively refocused his brain, but unfortunately was unable to freeze out the desire still pumping through his body.

He'd been hoping that the cold would give him some literal 'blue balls', but it was having zero effect on his unsatisfied lust.

 _God, her face earlier, needing him so desperately…_

Today, he'd wanted to taste her. _All of her._ Until Sloane had ruined it. He could just imagine her face – the surprise and momentary hesitation would cross her face, just like it had for everything new that she experienced, but after that, as soon as his lips would touch hers, he imagined her face blossoming. Her small gasp as he would part her lower folds to explore their depths with his tongue; he wondered if they would have the same vanilla-sweet taste as her mouth.

Tristan groaned at the thought, his hands coming to press up against the shower wall before he banged his fist against it.

 _Fuck, this erection was not going away…not with thoughts like these._

He ran his hands roughly through his soaking hair, sighing in resignation.

 _Fuck it._

Tristan gave up trying to fight it, trying to fight the thoughts of her that pulled him towards release. Leaning his back against the cold tile wall, he closed his eyes and let her face come to him as his right hand reached down and grabbed ahold of his burning erection.

At the first touch, pain and pleasure rocketed through him, so intense because it had been suppressed for much longer than was comfortable. His hand began to pump up and down along the hard length as he thought of her, imagining her verdant eyes deepening to a jungle green with arousal as he kissed his way down her body. He imagined the taste of her hot, slick folds against his tongue – his hand moving faster with each imagined lick of his tongue. He pictured her exceptionally expressive face as he brought her closer to release. The way a flush would invade her freckled, porcelain cheeks, the way her eyes would slowly clench shut, unable to take the pressured pleasure that was about to erupt inside of her – just like his was about to. He imagined sinking two fingers deep inside of her tight passage again—

 _Fuck._

His head fell back against the wall, on the edge of his release, his arm burning from the rapid movement of his hand.

 _Not yet._

She wasn't even here and yet he had to see her come. Through the deep haze of lust, he found her face again; watching her as his mouth and fingers pleasured her. He saw himself work three fingers inside of her, her hips jerking against him just before he sucked on her hard and she came apart right before his eyes.

Ellie blurred from his mind an instant later as he let out a violet yell, his own orgasm tearing through him. The ice-cold water quickly washing away the cloudy evidence of his release that began to coat the shower wall. When the pleasure finally subsided, accelerated by the cold shower that was now starting to feel uncomfortable, Tristan sagged against the tile wall, turning the water off as he let his breathing catch up. He looked down at his now, finally, softening penis – trying to remember the last time he'd been so on edge that he'd needed to pleasure himself in order to come down; he couldn't remember, but that wasn't the most unnerving thought that came to his mind.

 _It wasn't enough._

If he didn't have her soon, she was going to be the death of him.


	18. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Tristan stared at Pierce's number in his phone, his finger hovering over the button to call. It had been hovering in that same spot since he got in the cab after leaving the office. He'd almost hitting the icon numerous times before switching out to a different app to check his email or his personal investments.

He didn't usually go into the office on a Sunday, but they'd made some headway with the proposal that he'd somehow managed to finish up on Friday. Corporate mergers were hell, but Black Box was his baby, built from the ground up, and this would solidify its place as the number one investment management firm in the world.

It was funny to think back that he'd begun this venture even before starting the Guild. He'd used the money he made from person investments to fund the entire project. Hell, Black Box was what had led him to found the Guild. Sloane, with his eye for real estate even back then, had helped him find his first space, and his next one, and his current one.

 _Oh, and he owned One57._

That was how the Guild began. They'd known each other casually in college, but it was when Tristan searched him out to find him an office building, and a studio space, that the idea had begun and it was Sloane who had brought Pierce along to the bargain. He'd also known Pierce in college, although it was more like he knew _of_ him; he was infamous around campus, for everything that you might expect from Pierce. Pierce was an asshole then just like he is now, and probably, just like he was for his entire life.

They'd come into contact maybe once or twice, Pierce had majored in media and video production and only graced the occasional fine art class. The stark difference in their majors made it easier to keep a greater distance; similar to when you place the like poles of two magnets together, Pierce and he had instinctively repelled.

Sloane, though, had somehow managed to put up with him and keep him out of trouble, for the most part. Even now, Sloane was the buffer that allowed them to coexist peacefully with each other, although it had gotten a lot easier over the years.

 _Until you punched him._

He hated admitting that he had fucked up – it was as simple as that, but he knew that in this case, he couldn't just let this one slide. In the past, when they pissed each other off, they usually just let the dust settle and proceeded to forget about it; it was an unspoken agreement between them since neither was fond of or adept at apologizing.

 _Alright, it wasn't as simple as that._

Apologizing for something like this meant providing an explanation, at least for Pierce it did, and Tristan wasn't sure that he was ready to give him that. Hell, he wasn't even sure that he even had it. Yeah, he punched him for what he said about Ellie, but that only scratched the surface; Pierce would want to know why she was so important and that, he honestly didn't have an answer for.

 _One that he was willing to admit to, at least._

None of this was supposed to happen, he thought, locking his phone again. She was Jack Carter's daughter.

 _She was Jack Carter's daughter._

And now, Sloane knew. Tristan thought about it last night, contemplating how much of a problem that was going to be. Clearly, Sloane knew better than to ask more questions about it, but he was also smart enough to know that it was no coincidence that Tristan had involved himself with the daughter of the man who was holding his mom's portrait hostage. The way he figured, Sloane most likely wouldn't say anything to Pierce, or anyone, at this point – just based on his personality and how he handled their disputes in the past. However, he'd still made the connection and was wary of just what Tristan had planned; a skeptical Sloane was a little more unpredictable.

Even though Tristan was their leader, he still wasn't always in control of his emotions; Sloane was. Sloane never lost control and he always put the Guild first, and if he got the slightest idea that Tristan was going to compromise what they had going for them, there would be hell to pay.

 _Another reason why he needed to contact Pierce – to appease their always-sensible third member._

Tristan huffed, hitting the button to send a message to Pierce:

\- _We need to talk._

It wasn't a call but it was better than nothing; he hit the send button and closed the message. Pierce wouldn't respond right away – not his style.

He picked up the Hamilton tickets sitting on the kitchen counter in front of him; Donna had dropped them off earlier. He didn't know how she did it, but that woman worked wonders. He tapped the edges of them against the granite, picturing what Ellie's face would be when he told her their plans for the evening and smiled.

 _A Broadway show wasn't the only new experience she was going to have tonight either, not if he had anything to say about it._

Walking into his bedroom, he put on his tie and suit jacket, expecting Ellie any minute now. He didn't care what happened yesterday, nothing and no one was going to interrupt him tonight; his pants tightened at the thought.

 _Christ, he needed to calm down._

That shower did nothing for him yesterday except make him want her more.

The minutes ticked by. _She was usually early._ Immediately, his brain began to doubt.

 _What if she wasn't coming? What if he talked to her too soon, that she got home and realized that he was crazy, that this whole process was crazy, and that she was done with him? What if he never saw her again?_

The faint knock at his door immediately and fortunately silenced his fears before he had time to even process what the answer to that question would be. Her presence, even outside his apartment, put his senses on high alert, his body feeling even before his eyes saw who was at the door. He quickly glanced at himself in the mirror because he now apparently cared about his appearance, and then headed to the front door, towards the only person he'd ever felt the desire to impress.

"Ellie," he greeted her with an appreciative smile, her name rolling seductively off his tongue. His eyes took in the sight of her. Somehow, each time he saw her, she became even more enticing, her hair more vibrant, the passionate hue flickering in the light, begging to be seen against the stark contrast of her incredibly pale skin. He watched her eyes flare and the small shudder that moved through her, her name on his lips just as effective as if he had physically caressed her.

"Hi," she replied, a hint of breathlessness in her voice before her eyes shadowed when she caught sight of his still rearranged living room in the background.

Tristan silently cursed himself; he knew he should have moved the furniture back, that not doing so ran the risk of reminding her what had happened yesterday. There was nothing that he could do about it now though, except to make amends and make her his.

"Come in," he said gently, trying to allay the worry that was now present in her eyes, "we have a few minutes before we have to leave."

Tonight, she wore a silk black slip of a dress, her arms covered by a gray blazer that reached her wrists. After yesterday, he noticed her sleeves and he remembered every time he'd seen her in before – her clothes covered the expanse of her arms. Now, the signs that he'd missed, something so insignificant, stood in front of him like a mountain; its dark shadow looming over him.

"Would you like something to drink?" he offered, watching as she hesitantly walked towards the empty easel that was still standing in the middle of his floor.

"I'll take a glass of wine," came her distant response.

Tristan stopped in his tracks. "Wine?" he questioned, sure that he must have heard her wrong.

"Surprise," her voice gliding over her shoulder as she looked at him with a smile, "you're not the only one who's allowed to have surprises, are you?"

"Maybe," he replied, wondering what had brought this on.

"Well, it wasn't in the contract, so you can't enforce it," she taunted, "I did read it, you know." He couldn't stop the laugh that escaped in response to her sassy reply.

 _God, she was so unpredictable._

"Very true, it wasn't," he began, deviously, "however, I will enforce whatever I want on that smart mouth of yours if you keep it up." _That_ got her attention; her head darting around, mouth parted, to meet his molten gaze. He replied with a seductive smile as he poured her a modest glass of chardonnay.

"So, tell me, why the wine?" he asked, really wanting to know what went through that fiery head of hers.

"I don't want you to think that I'm predictable," she replied with an attempt at nonchalance.

Her answer stunned him. Again, prepared for some sort of tart response back from her, Tristan was shocked at the depth behind her words. She'd feigned casualness in her response as if it were no big deal, but that was far from the truth that was written in her eyes. Reflected in the green depths was her truth, that she was boring and mundane, lacking any element of surprise, lacking any reason for interest.

All his previous thoughts and responses were forgotten, seared away by the burning desire to make her see that she was nowhere near the person that she thought she was, the person that she resented.

He handed her the wine glass, mute for a second while his brain continued to struggle processing how it was humanly possible for her to see herself in such a poor light?

 _How could she be so blind?_

"Ellie," he began hoarsely, watching her take her first sip boldly from the glass, "I've made my business, I've made my life on my ability to predict the market and let me tell you, you are as far from predictable as any stock that I've ever encountered; hell, you are the riskiest investment that I've ever made."

Ellie's lips slowly left the wine glass, in awe and enthralled by his statement and the depth of emotion that it conveyed. She swallowed the wine over the lump in her throat, her mouth immediately dry as it parted for air. She felt her heart thumping in her chest as she ever-so-slightly swayed towards him.

Tristan lost himself in the mossy depths of her eyes; he'd come over here to bring her the glass of wine, knowing exactly what he wanted to say next to bring up the Hamilton tickets, and then she'd gone and been predictably unpredictable. He didn't know where the words had come from, but that didn't make them any less true.

He'd invested in her as a sure thing – a guaranteed way to get his mom's portrait back; he, of all people, should have known that nothing and no one is a sure thing. This 'sure thing' had turned into the biggest gamble of his life – not just with his mom's portrait, or the Guild, but with his heart.

Their breaths mingled as Tristan slowly closed the distance between their lips, his brushing hers ever so gently when his phone began to buzz from the kitchen.

 _His alarm._

"Shit," he whispered against her achingly sweet mouth, beyond tempted to say 'fuck it' to Hamilton and the thousands of dollars the tickets had probably cost him.

 _But he couldn't._

No, the prospect of seeing Ellie's surprised face when she learned where he was taking her was a temptation that he couldn't resist.

Groaning softly, he stepped back from her, walking into the kitchen to stop the obnoxious alarm reminding him that it was time to leave so that they wouldn't be late.

"We have to get going. Trust me, you don't want to be late," he said with a devilish grin. When he turned, she was watching him intently, and he knew that she was recalling yesterday again, another time when their kiss had been cruelly interrupted.

She nodded slowly, with a small, forced smile, and Tristan thought that she was going to let it go. "Is your friend ok?" Ellie asked, not wanting to ruin the moment, but unable to stop herself

 _Predictable my ass,_ Tristan thought.

"Yeah, he's fine. He's learned that calling before just showing up at someone's house is the respectable norm," he replied with a touch of humorous sarcasm, as he walked to open the front door for Ellie, "there's a car waiting for us downstairs." Ellie walked towards him, but stopped short before leaving the apartment.

"Did you really punch someone?" she whispered, looking up at him with her enquiring emerald eyes.

His jaw flexed. He didn't want to have this discussion now – or ever. He never wanted Pierce to touch her life, she was too vibrant, too light; Pierce had dark demons that even he struggled to control.

"I did," he bit out through clenched teeth.

She could tell he didn't want to elaborate, but something inside her made her push forward. "Was it because of me?"

 _There. She'd said it._

Tristan's eyes went wide; he knew she was going to ask why, but he'd hoped she hadn't put two and two together from what Sloane had let slip yesterday. It didn't surprise him that she did, it surprised him that instead of just asking why, she had the courage to ask what she was really thinking.

 _Predictable my ass._

"It was because he deserved it," Tristan responded, placing his hand on her lower back with a gentle pressure to guide her out the door, the heat of her skin stimulating the barest contact of his fingertips.

His tone implied that that was all he planned on saying about it, and Ellie decided that she'd been courageous enough for the moment, acquiescing to the electrifying touch of his fingers and walking out towards the elevator.

"So, what's this surprise? Are you taking me to Ireland?" she joked, bringing back a lighter mood to their conversation.

"Ahh…well, if I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise," he began with a smirk, "but, it's not Ireland, I will tell you that much."

"Oh, darn. I'm not sure I want to go now," she teased.

"Oh really, Miss Carter? I promise it will be worth it," he whispered close to her ear as his hand traced lazy circles on her lower back, drifting tantalizingly to the edge of her thong that would be easily felt through the thin fabric of the dress.

Tristan smiled with satisfaction at her quick intake of breath. His hand grazed down the enticing swell of her ass letting it fall to his side as the elevator came to a stop. "We could do Ireland next weekend, if you want," he concluded, all playfulness leaving his voice, deadly serious about his offer.

 _He would show her the world, if she just asked._

Ellie stared back into Tristan's gilded eyes; there was no mistaking the seriousness of his offer nor her desire to take him up on it.

 _Next weekend._ Ellie winced at the reminder. Thankfully, the elevator doors opened and Tristan's focus was forced elsewhere before he could notice.

They walked out into the afternoon sun, a beautifully brisk afternoon in the city. Tristan guided her to the black car that was waiting for them at the curb, the driver exiting to come around and open the door for them. Tristan helped her in first, giving direction to the driver quietly once he was certain that Ellie couldn't hear him.

"So, are you going to tell me now?" she asked when he joined her inside the car.

"And ruin it? No, I'm going to show you," he said, reaching into his coat pocket, "but, only when we get there."

When he opened his hand, Ellie saw he was holding a black silk tie and for a moment, she didn't realize its significance. He unraveled it just as the car began to move, holding it up to her eye level. Tristan saw the spark of recognition when she realized that he meant to blindfold her until they arrived at their destination. Her mouth formed a small 'oh' in response before she swallowed and slowly turned her head around so that he could secure the soft silk over her eyes.

"Is it ok?" he asked, gently tying the fabric in a knot behind her head.

"I'll let you know when we get there," she replied, unable to keep the slight waver of uncertainty from her voice.

"Do you not like surprises?"

"Does anyone?" she laughed nervously. "I don't know, I guess if they are good surprises, then yes, I like them."

 _Unfortunately, most of the surprises in her life had not been good ones. After so many let downs, 'surprise' becomes synonymous with certain calamity and the expected response of excitement becomes conditioned caution._

"Interesting," Tristan replied, thoughtfully.

She could feel his gaze on her, even though she couldn't see it. Tristan, on the other hand, partially regretted covering her eyes now that he couldn't see them to judge her response. Her answer was hesitant and he wanted to know why.

"Well, this is a good one, I promise," he reassured her as the car pulled around the corner, the Richard Rogers theatre a few feet in front of them.

"Then I'm sure I'll like it," she said with a smile, "I trust you."

Tristan's eyes dropped to the floor at those last three words, the surge of pride and satisfaction that he had felt quickly drowned out by the guilt that came with knowing the truth.

 _She shouldn't trust him; if she only knew why she was here and what he planned to do to her._

The car came to a stop and he pushed those feelings back down inside of him, now wasn't the time to wrestle with them. No, today was about Ellie, about giving her another piece of the life she desired, showing her that she deserved all of it and more.

 _Tomorrow he would worry about reconciling who he was with who she thought him to be._

"We're here," he whispered conspiratorially into her ear, kissing the corner of her jaw before he pulled away. The car door opened and Ellie felt the rush of cool air enter the car, she heard the bustle of people walking and talking outside the door. Finally, the excitement hit her; for the first time, she felt comfortable with a surprise, confident that it was one that would make her happy.

 _Confident that Tristan would make her happy._

Tristan helped her out of the car, the tie still covering her eyes. Her cheeks began to flush wondering if there were people staring at her, blindfolded, in the middle of the sidewalk somewhere in New York City.

"It's ok," he whispered again to her, reaching down to squeeze her hand.

She sensed him move to stand in front of her. He placed both hands on her hips, pulling her against the hard hotness of his body.

"Ready?"

"Yes!" she exclaimed, a laugh erupting from her lips, worry finally leaving her face. She felt his body shake with laughter as his hands reached up and around to the back of her head to loosen the knot. She felt the tie give way as he stepped to the side so not to block her view taking the tie with him; her vision was free.

Opening her eyes, she saw they were standing in front of doors to a theater; doors that were plastered with show posters all over them. She stared, confused for a second, before she realized that all of the posters were for one show only.

 _Hamilton._

Tristan watched in wonder as understanding dawned on her face. The way her eyebrows slowly unfurled from confusion and raised in disbelief; her hand coming up to cover her mouth in shock as her gaze turned his.

 _It was like watching the sunset from his apartment windows - every night, the same skyline, the same setting sun, and yet somehow, he was always in awe as if he were seeing its beauty for the first time; watching every emotion play over her face was like watching those sunsets - he would never cease to be inspired by them._

"Hamilton?" she squeaked out, staring at him, eyes wide.

"Yes," he confirmed, a giant smile of success breaking over his face, "your first Broadway show, I figured it should be a memorable one."

"Oh my God, Tristan…" she said breathlessly, looking back at the doors, watching as they opened and closed, letting other guests inside. Ellie felt a tear slip down her cheek; tears generally accompanied surprises for her, just not usually tears of happiness.

He was trying to make up for what had happened yesterday, but she'd never expected this – the thoughtfulness and the effort and expense.

 _What had he even had to pay to get these and on such short notice?! It must have been a small fortune…_

All to give her a new experience, something that she's always wanted; all to make her happy. She closed the distance between them, looking up at Tristan with tear-glazed eyes and whispered, "thank you," just as her lips reached up to kiss his.

She hadn't thought, hadn't wondered if it would be ok, she forgot they were standing in the middle of the sidewalk, surrounded by strangers passing by; she hadn't considered if the public nature of her display of affection was ok, and she didn't care.

 _Neither did he._

Still in awe of the joy that he'd brought to her face, Tristan could only stare helplessly as Ellie grabbed his face and softly touched her lips to his; the shock of the contact breaking his trance. He groaned, his hands coming to her hips and pulling her firmly against him. She had started this, but Tristan quickly took control.

 _Or his desire for her did._

Slanting his mouth over hers, he deepened the kiss, needing to taste her. This time, the salty sweetness of her tears fueled his arousal, knowing that they were tears of happiness. His erection strained against his fitted suit, the thin material of her dress doing nothing to shield her from feeling the hard length pressing into her stomach. Ellie moaned into the kiss, falling deeper into its spell.

" _Get a room!"_ a stranger jokingly yelled, maneuvering around them on the sidewalk.

The moment broken, Ellie pulled back from the kiss, biting her lip trying to hold in a laugh. Tristan took chuckled as he looked down the street, trying to figure out who it was that said something. He leaned down and gently pressed his lips to hers one more time before stepping back and putting a good six inches between their desire for each other.

"Sorry," Ellie said sheepishly, still chewing slightly on her lower lip.

"Don't be," Tristan replied, his tone deadly serious, "don't ever be." The blush in her cheeks deepened at the intensity of his words. "We should probably head in," he said, reaching his hand out to her, "I have to admit though I think I enjoyed the show out here more than the one we are about to walk in and see."

He gave her a playful smile as she took ahold of his hand.

"The jury is still out for me…" Ellie teased, not missing a beat.

Tristan raised his eyes in mock shock before he let out a laugh, escorting Ellie inside of the theatre. "Touché, Miss Carter, touché."

Ellie shot him a coy look just as they walked into the theatre to take their seats, the lights dimming for the celebrated performance that was about to begin.


	19. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

They stepped back out onto the sidewalk a few hours later, Tristan leading them through the masses of people all trying to get out and on their way. His car was waiting for them just around the corner, a front row spot, much to the dismay of the cabbies trying to pick up customers.

"Tristan, that was incredible," Ellie gushed, as they got settled inside the car, her eyes wide and sparkling with excitement and happiness, her face flushed from the rush of escaping the exiting crowd.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it," he mused watching her beautiful face alight with pleasure.

"I did!" she assured him ecstatically. "It was amazing; the music was phenomenal, Lin-Manuel Miranda…I'm at a loss for words. And the costumes, the entire story, I mean…God, I probably sound like an idiot, I've just never been to the theatre before and I always imagined what it was like, but never that it would be something like this."

"You don't sound like an idiot," Tristan said, taking one of her hands within his, his thumb tracing lazy circles over hers.

"Is always like that? When you see a show?" Ellie asked, wondering if every performance was just as moving as this one had been.

"It's never been like that before, Ellie, never," he replied huskily, "at least, for me."

He'd seen shows on Broadway before, and in London, and Paris; he really enjoyed going to the theatre when he had time and he was always impressed by the performances that he had seen, but this time wasn't like any before it. Yeah, he'd heard the rumors, the reviews, the raves about 'Hamilton,' but truth be told, he'd struggled to keep his eyes on the performance when show of emotions crossing Ellie's face next to him had been so much more captivating. The joy, pleasure, suspense, sadness that had moved over her face like the

In some way, it was like Tristan had experienced a Broadway show for the first time tonight too, just like Ellie had.

"Did you enjoy it?" she asked, her voice coming down from her excitement; her eyes and tone deepened, subtly suggesting that her question was referring to more than the musical.

"I enjoyed you enjoying it," he responded, his eyes never leaving hers, "but then again, I always do."

 _Wow._

Ellie felt like her body was just set on fire, the way he was looking at her igniting the blaze. She shifted in her seat, trying to ease the ache that was building between her thighs and contain the warm gush of liquid she knew would easily soak through the thin silk of her dress.

Tristan leaned closer to her, her eyes immediately shifting to focus on his lips, expecting… _craving_ his kiss. The oxygen in the car seemed to be dwindling as the temperature and tension between them rose.

And then her stomach rumbled…loudly.

"Hungry?" Tristan asked, a smile breaking on his face as he sat back in his seat; the moment broken.

"I guess so," Ellie replied, her face lighting up with embarrassment.

"There's dinner waiting for us back at the apartment; don't worry, I'll feed you," he said lightly.

 _And then he would feast on her._

"Are you hungry?" Ellie asked, as she realized that she was chewing on her lip again.

 _She must really be hungry – how had she not realized?_

"Yes," he said, "but not for food."

Her eyes shot to his – impossibly dark, with barely a hint of their usual gold. She watched as he shifted in the seat of the car, adjusting his pants even though she could see _very_ clearly how aroused he was.

The car stopped, signaling their arrival back at Tristan's apartment. Getting out of the car, Tristan let Ellie lead the way inside, his hand remaining stable on her lower back, not for nothing but at least she was a partial shield in front of the obvious and uncomfortable erection in his pants.

 _A situation he was in because of her._

Making it up to his condo with no uncomfortable encounters, Tristan walked immediately into the kitchen where a large pizza box was sitting on top of his island.

"Pizza?" Ellie squeaked.

 _She couldn't remember the last time she had pizza. No, she could._

Pizza was the one thing that her stomach seemed to tolerate while she was on chemo – if only because she desired it. After she finished treatment, she had stayed away from the stuff partially because it wasn't healthy, but mostly because it was a distinct reminder of painful times.

"Please tell me you've had pizza before," Tristan exclaimed, shock and concern written all over his face.

"Of course, I've had pizza before," Ellie scoffed, "who do you think I am? No, don't answer that. Yes, I've had pizza; I love pizza. I just haven't had it in a while, that's all."

"I was really worried about you there for a second," Tristan joked as he opened the box and began to slice the pie.

Ellie huffed and waved him off, walking into the living room and picking up her glass of wine that she had left there from earlier. This time, she enjoyed the sweet burn of the alcohol as it touched her tongue and sank back down her throat. Again, she remembered the events of yesterday, curiosity gnawing at her.

"So, we're all dressed up and going to sit and eat pizza?" she teased, not caring in the slightest what they ate or what they wore when they ate it.

"That's the plan; I like contradictions," Tristan laughed, "Unless you are uncomfortable in your dress, I won't be upset if you'd rather eat naked."

She heard the joke in his voice, but saw the serious desire in his eyes at the mention, the thought of her naked, heat rising in her cheeks.

"I'm ok, thanks."

No sassy response that time, Tristan smirked. She was a walking contradiction – strong, but shy; sassy, yet sweet; sexy…

 _No, just sexy. Period._

"Who is Pierce?" she asked, turning around after the words had left her mouth, unsure if she would have had the courage to say them had she been looking at Tristan directly.

His hands froze in the middle of putting the slices of pizza on their plates, his eyes narrowed before meeting her gaze, thrown off by the change in subject; his lips thinned, the amusement from their previous banter replaced by the uncomfortable seriousness of the topic she was inquiring about.

She didn't back down; she stared at him, taking another sip of the wine in an attempt to fortify her courage.

"He's a business partner of mine," Tristan responded cryptically.

"Like Sloane?"

"Yes, like Sloane," he confirmed, picking up the two plates and walking over to the dining room table. He set the plates down at the far end of the table, closest to the windows, so that they would have a better view out over the city while they ate.

"Is he still going to be your business partner even after you punched him?" Ellie continued her probe, meeting him at the table and taking the seat opposite him.

"Yes." _Hopefully._

"Are you going to apologize to him?" she asked, just before taking the first bite of her pizza, a small moan escaping as the delicious mixtures of carbs met her tongue.

"Something like that."

"Well, are you friends? It seems like he's a friend…" Ellie trailed off, her questions keeping him from changing the subject.

"He is. Sort of," Tristan said, swallowing his bite of pizza before continuing with a sigh, "Pierce is a different breed of human. Yes, we are friends by most peoples' standards but friendship isn't exactly something that Pierce does well."

"So, you don't get along?"

"You could say that," he laughed. "No, we do. The problem is that we are more alike than not in ways that make our friendship very hit or miss. We have a similar drive, a shared goal, when it comes to our…partnership…and yeah, he's been there for me during some difficult times in my life, but at the same time, he's one of those people where you really never know what he is thinking or planning, and many times it's not for the good."

"I see," Ellie responded, listening intently as Tristan opened up about his work and friends, "so, does he work with stocks and investments too?"

"No," Tristan chuckled. "Out of all of us, Pierce hates numbers and equations and all things predictable the most; he's a producer. So, he's usually here scouting for new film ideas and then out in California or on location making them a reality, which is a good thing because it means that we don't have to deal with him all of the time."

"So, then how is he your business partner?" Ellie asked, perplexed by the seeming lack of business connection between them.

 _Shit. How did he not see that coming?_

"He's more of a silent partner," he replied, thinking on the fly.

"Will I ever meet him?"

"No, definitely not. Hopefully not," Tristan said harshly, finishing the last of his pizza.

Her head ducked down at his immediate reply. "Oh, ok," she replied softly.

Tristan could see from the look on her face that she thought his answer had something to do with her; that he didn't want his friend meeting her, when the reality was that he didn't want her to meet his friend.

"Fuck," Tristan let out on a sigh, "it's not because of you. I told you, Pierce is not like normal people; he enjoys causing mischief and problems, he enjoys intimidating people, playing with their mind, and, with you, I don't know how far that would go."

"Because I'm the reason that you punched him?" Ellie suggested softly, her wondering gaze raising to his.

Tristan's mouth thinned. Unwilling to answer the question, he instead picked up their empty plates and brought them out to the kitchen, dumping them in the sink to be handled later. When he turned back to Ellie, he saw she was looking out the windows of the condo over the vast expanse of the city, yet her stare seemed blank, like the only thing that she was seeing was the thoughts running through her mind.

He poured himself a glass of wine, bringing the bottle back over to the table to refill hers.

"You weren't the only reason," Tristan ground out as he tipped the bottle to add a splash more wine to her glass, unsure what was propelling him to tell her the truth right now, "he lost something of mine, something very important to me."

He watched as her face turned up to him, her eyes now alive in the moment. He continued before she had the chance to ask him the question written all over her face.

"He lost a portrait of my mother that I did of her before she died."

The words came out clipped, stifled by the suppressive control he was trying to maintain over the emotions caused by thinking about the portrait and his mom.

"Oh, Tristan," she said, her hand coming to rest on his hand that was holding the wine bottle, "I'm so sorry; I'm sure it that must have meant a lot to you."

"I'll get it back," was his hardened response.

Ellie inhaled sharply at the intense tone and look in his eyes when he made that promise. The look he had was cold, calculating, and determined, but that wasn't what startled her; it was that those emotions seemed to be directed at her in that moment, as if she was the problem and the answer all at the same time.

And, in an instant, it was gone. Tristan pulled back, realizing a second late just how much he could have revealed to her and how easy it would have been. He walked back into the kitchen with the empty wine bottle, needing to distance himself from her.

"I don't expect this to ever happen," he switched the subject, "but, should you ever meet Pierce, should he ever show up here or run into you in this building, or elsewhere, do not listen to him, do not trust him."

"I…ahh…ok," Ellie stuttered, her brow furrowing in confusion.

"I told you, he's not nice and he's not normal, and I don't trust him to not do something to you in order to get to me."

"But he's your friend…"

"Which is why I can comfortably and confidently say this to you; just don't trust him, Ellie," Tristan instructed her harshly.

He knew he was making Pierce sound like a monster, but sometimes, he was and it was better she be overly cautious than not. Ellie was too innocent and naïve to know or understand; Pierce would easily be able to use her to hurt him, to pay Tristan back for hitting him. No, he wouldn't physically hurt her, he wasn't that breed of psycho, but he would use her against Tristan, he had no doubt.

"Ok," she agreed hesitantly, not fully understanding why Tristan was so concerned about Pierce. Yet, she recognized that he was very concerned by his face and voice. She stood from the table and walked towards him, but stopping short of the kitchen.

 _She was dangerous._

The way that she looked at him, like all she wanted to do was help him, please him, it would have brought a weaker man to his knees. Her emotions, her empathy, called out to him; it drew from him things that he had tried to erase and things that he needed to keep hidden. The only thing that kept him strong was the image of his mother; she was the only one who had been there for him and he wouldn't forsake the only thing he had left of her for Ellie, he couldn't.

 _Or could he?_

"What is the portrait of me for?" Ellie inquired, "or am I not allowed to know."

 _No, technically she wasn't allowed to know._

"The Met is hosting a competition in a few weeks that I've agreed to participate in," he replied.

 _It was the truth, just not the whole truth. But, a partial truth was better than a lie._

"Wait, my face is going to be at the Met?" she asked in shock, the color draining from her face. She turned away from him in embarrassment, walking into the living room.

 _No, his mother's was –_ but he couldn't tell her that.

"Would you rather me submit a drawing of a different body part of yours?" He responded seductively, carefully avoiding answering her question, instead presenting her with one that would further unnerve her.

"Have you started on it?" her voice floated over to him, readily changing the direction of the conversation.

"On what?"

"The final drawing…of me," she replied, stopping in front of the settee, staring at it for a long moment remembering the events of yesterday, before she turned and sat down, trying to arrange her dress that rode dangerously high up her thighs.

"Hmm…good question." Tristan cracked open another bottle of wine. "Maybe tomorrow, I'll know when I see it."

"What are you looking for?"

"The perfect expression of yours to capture," he answered, walking over to dim the living room lights, allowing the faint glow of the fading sun to cast its warm, honeyed glow over the room.

"Oh, jeez, no pressure on me then," she laughed nervously, turning her face from him to look out at the orange sunset that was steadily vanishing to the deep night sky.

"That's not the problem," he clarified, "I have too many options." As he spoke the words he came and sat down right next to her on the settee, her right thigh burned where it touched his. He took her wine glass from her, setting them both down on the floor next to the couch. "Everything you experience, is written so flawlessly on your face; it's the most incredible thing that I've ever seen," as he spoke, the verity of his words was reflected in the awe-filled hoarseness of his voice.

His fingers came up to gently rest underneath her chin, tilting her face up to his. He watched the light play over her features, her mouth part slightly at his words, as her eyes became lost in his. His thumb moved to rub gently over the soft, velvety fullness of her lower lip; his eyes fixated on its perfect shape for a moment. His gaze raised to hers, not dark with desire, but shining bright, shimmering golden with appreciation and desire; the artist and the man fighting inside of him for whose needs should be met first – one needing to capture her, the other needing to captivate her.

"I could spend the rest of my life etching your emotions and never find myself short on inspiration," he whispered, hoarse with sincerity.

Ellie felt her need for him enflame her. The way that he made her feel – beautiful, interesting, mesmerizing, was beyond compare and all she wanted was more. She looked at him full of longing, begging him to make her feel alive, to incinerate her worries and her fears with his passion.

Like a magnet attracted to its opposing pole, his lips pulled to hers because the laws of physics demanded it.

The touch of their lips creating a magnetic moment, its intensity mimicking the force of attraction that was overflowing between them.


	20. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Whether it was the desire left unfulfilled from yesterday, the wine they'd both had, or the depth of the connection that they had unexpectedly reached, this wasn't about to go slow.

As soon as his lips touched hers, her mouth opened in response, desperately inviting the exploring touch of his tongue. His hands grasped the side of her face, sliding back until his fingers thread through her hair. He tilted her head for better access to the sweet interior of her mouth, her tongue eagerly tasting the intrusion of his.

 _She was burning._

Underneath his fingers and his mouth, he felt her on fire. He didn't know if it was because her desire had been on edge since yesterday, or if it was from the full glass of wine that she had drank, but he didn't care. She kissed him back fiercely needing more from him, faster. Her hands came to rest briefly on his chest before finding their way underneath his jacket and grabbing onto his dress shirt, fisting the previously, perfectly-pressed material in her hands in an attempt to pull him closer to her.

 _Fuck, he couldn't take it slow. Not when she needed him like this._

Pulling his hands from her hair, he shrugged out of his suit jacket, her hands coming to assist in the process. While her hands were momentarily free, Tristan took ahold of the blazer that she was wearing, acutely aware of her reaction from yesterday, but so frenzied with lust that all he could hope was that this wasn't moving too fast and that he didn't scare her again. With as much care as he could muster, he slowly drew the material down to reveal the creamy expanse of her shoulders and chest.

Ellie moaned softly, and Tristan froze. Every cell, every nerve paralyzed for a split second expecting her to pull away from him again. Then, he felt the material in his hands shift and give way, realizing that she had reached up to yank the blazer completely off of her, tossing it onto the floor.

 _Thank God._

The relief was immediate, intense, and quickly interchanged with the raging hunger that he'd been forced to immediately restrain. His fingers gripped into the soft flesh of her hips, turning her even further towards him. Her hands returned to his chest, but this time with a new goal in mind; her fingers first loosened and discarded his tie, then beginning to make quick work of the buttons down the front of his shirt, eager to feel the firm skin beneath.

He groaned at the first touch of her soft hands on his bare chest. Forced to release her again to rip the shirt from his body, he threw the offending material onto the floor behind him, hearing as it hit one of the wine glasses, tipping it over.

"Tristan! The wine!" Ellie exclaimed, breaking away from him.

The moment it took to take in the sight of her – her flesh tinted pink with arousal, her eyes deep green with hunger, and her lips purple and swollen from their kiss, was all it took for him to realize that his erection might rip through his pants, he was so crazed with need for her.

"I don't give a fuck about the wine," he rasped harshly into her ear.

"But it spilled…all over…the carpet," she panted, trying to focus on the mess that she was concerned about.

"The only thing," he began, biting her earlobe as she let her head fall back with a moan, no longer able to keep it steady and alert under his assault, "that I care about having," he continued as his mouth furthered its trail of bites down her neck, "all over the carpet," his hands moved to bunch her dress up around her hips, his fingers finally able to sink into her bare skin, " _is you._ "

With that, he yanked her to him and then lowered them both down to the floor. Her legs parted to accommodate him, pain and pleasure shooting through him as the hard ridge of his erection came to rest on the hot center between her thighs.

Whether it was his words, or their change of position that elicited her gasp turned moan, he couldn't say. Panting, he looked down at the sea of red beneath him, her glazed eyes barely focusing on his; her silk dress no match for concealing the firm peaks of her nipples, her long bare legs completely exposed to him, with just the barest hint of her matching navy silk underwear peeking out below the hem of her dress.

Tristan groaned, fire pumping through his veins. He wanted everything – and nothing. He wanted to touch all of her, and yet, he wanted to just stay right where he was and consume her beauty in this moment.

" _Please,_ " she moaned, making the choice for him.

With his hands on either side of her face, his head bent to take her mouth again tasting her passion on her lips. Shouldering all his weigh on one arm, his right hand moved immediately to caress her breast that was begging for his attention. He cupped the swollen weight in his hand, kneading the tender flesh in his palm, his thumb brushing the silk of her dress back and forth over her erect nipple.

She arched into his hand, begging for more, needing more, and he wasn't going to let her down. Releasing her mouth, his head moved directly over her other breast, dropping to suck on her nipple through her dress. Her fingers threaded through his hair, anchoring him to her chest, as he pulled relentlessly on the desperate peak.

Then, her hips jerked against his erection and his vision went black.

 _Fuck, he needed her._

His pulled his mouth from her breast, gasping for air after the paralyzing jolt of lust that just seared through him. Pushing himself up to kneel, he briefly indulged in the sight of her writhing with need, her dress wet and wrinkled from where he had been; grasping the hem of her dress, he caught her gaze for one second before he pushed the material up and over her head, tossing it to the side, leaving her laying beneath him with nothing but her red hair, white skin, and blue thong.

He stared at the vision in front of him, again mesmerized by her beauty, the beauty of her swollen breasts, pink nipples turned a vibrantly warm red with arousal, the dark material of her underwear a glaring contrast to the paleness of her skin. His hands immediately went to her chest, filling both his hands with the full globes, reveling in the way she arched into his caress, biting her lip trying to ground the intense pleasure that threatened to tear her apart.

" _Please,_ " she moaned again.

" _What do you want, Ellie?_ " he ached to hear the words leave her mouth.

" _To feel…_ " she replied on a gasp as both his hands tugged on her nipples.

" _What do you want to feel?_ " he pressed on.

This time her only response was a moan.

" _What do you want to feel, Ellie?_ " he asked again, " _Pain?"_

With that question, he firmly pinched the two buds, her eyes going wide as she gasped in air, the pleasurable pain shooting through her straight to her core.

" _Yes,"_ she groaned, her hips arching up to brush against his straining erection. Tristan hissed at the onslaught.

 _She was a siren._

" _What about pleasure, Ellie?"_

This he asked as his hand trailed from her breast, across the creamy expanse of her flat stomach to the edge of her thong.

Her ' _yes'_ was barely decipherable through her moan, her hips jerking as the backs of his knuckles brushed over her swollen and aching core. Tristan groaned realizing that her thong looked so dark because it was soaking wet with her desire.

 _He had to taste her._

Grasping the flimsy material in both of his hands, he tugged it down over her hips, gently bending each of her legs to extricate them from the scrap of material standing between him and his dessert. Finally, he was able to see all of her, even if it was only with the glow of the city lights coming through his windows; it was enough.

" _What do you want to feel, Ellie?"_ he rasped again as his hands moved slowly up the lengths of her thighs, heading straight for the center of her. His hand brushed over her swollen folds, stopping as he waited for her answer.

" _Alive,"_ she gasped, " _I want...to feel…alive._ "

" _As you wish, Siren,_ " he replied, his finger delving into her hot core, enjoying her small scream at his first touch.

His mouth dropped to her stomach, nipping and kissing the delicate skin. His fingers slid easily inside her tight passage, she was so wet. As slowly as he could force himself, his mouth kissed its way down to the top of her mound. Pausing all of his movements, he looked back up at her once last time, once last chance for her to stop him before he feasted on her.

" _Please,"_ she moaned, unable to even open her eyes.

" _Don't worry, siren,"_ his words hoarse with arousal, as he looked down at the sweetness he was about to enjoy, " _I'll make you come alive."_ And then his lips descended on hers.

Ellie bucked underneath him at the first touch of his mouth on her folds, her hands fisting in the drop cloth at her sides.

 _God, she tasted incredible._

Tristan moaned, lapping the sweet syrup between her thighs. His tongue flicked over her clit, enjoying the feel of her leg muscles tensing to the point of spasm underneath his hands. He vaguely registered her moans in the background, his body painfully aroused as he lavished his attentions onto hers.

" _Please,_ " she begged, on the edge of her release.

Her hands moving to thread her fingers through his hair, pulling his head and mouth even tighter against her. In reward, Tristan pushed his tongue inside of her, feeling the growing contractions of her passage. She whimpered underneath him, so close to the edge of her orgasm, her skin on fire, muscles taut, begging for release; she couldn't hold on much longer.

 _And neither could he._

His right hand released her leg, skating up to meet his mouth. He pressed two fingers into her as his tongue returned to her clit, her body bucking underneath him as pleasure overwhelmed her. His fingers moved inside her, once, twice, her muscles flexing frantically around him.

" _Tristan,_ " she barely whispered his name, her breath held, her body trapped on the precipice on orgasm, begging to be released.

 _And he would set her free._

Pushing three fingers deep inside of her, he sucked on the swollen nub of her clit, shattering her world. Ellie screamed with her release, her body shaking with the force of the contractions that wracked her body. His mouth and hands never left her, gently licking over the sensitive bud, riding out the waves of her release, bringing her slowly back down to Earth.

He slowly raised his head, licking his lips of the remnants of her orgasm as he looks at her beautiful body sprawled out on the floor, limp, sated, and flushed with the blood that was pumping rapidly through her veins.

Her eyes fluttered opened, the satiated sereneness painted on her face knocked the wind out of him. Last time, he'd only seen her reflection in the window, which was arousing enough, but this time, actually seeing her took every last molecule of oxygen from his lungs.

When he could breathe again, it was with painful, forceful inhales that he tried to control his body. He watched her body explode with life while his still remained on the excruciating edge of release. Pain seared through his body forcing him to stagger back, lifting himself up onto the settee away from her before he lost control and took her the way that he craved.

 _Fuck._

Seeing her face, her rose-tipped nipples still firm with arousal, and her swollen pink folds glistening in the faint light from the city – all he wanted to do was rip off his pants and thrust his painfully engorged flesh inside her, over and over again until he could watch her release from the outside and feel it from the inside as he finally got the orgasm his body had been craving.

 _Not now. Not yet._

She wasn't ready for that yet; she craved desire but he needed her to need _him._

His sudden movement away from her startled Ellie. Her limbs, previously paralyzed with pleasure, now stirred with a semblance of renewed life. She groggily pushed herself up to sit, her legs closing and bending to the side, shielding him from the view that would only torture him more. Modestly trying to shield her chest, she reached for her discarded dress, holding it over her as a poor attempt for a cover.

 _God, she was so fucking beautiful – even with her look of satisfied embarrassment._

"Why are you smiling?" she said hoarsely.

"Because, siren, you're trying to cover yourself with the flimsiest piece of fabric I have ever seen," he began, his teasing smile not quite like normal as his face was tight with agony, "when I just had my tongue buried inside of you." His gaze burned into her all of the pent-up desire that he was feeling, her face flushing a bright red underneath its heat.

She moved to stand so that she could quickly and easily slip her dress back on, the sudden movement was too much and easily exacerbated the side effects of the medication that she was on, the blood rushing from her brain, she swayed, about to topple back over.

Tristan was up and holding her in a second, heart beating out of his chest, his excruciating state of arousal forgotten as he picked her up and laid her on the couch.

"Sorry…" she mumbled, trying to sit up again, embarrassed even further.

"Don't be sorry, just lay here for a second, and relax; your brain needs blood flow – don't move," he instructed, "I'm going to get you a blanket."

Ellie nodded, resting her head back down on the pillow on the settee, just needing to close her eyes for a second and collect herself.

 _Wine was definitely not the best idea with these medications – duly noted._

Tristan stood, wincing as his pants tightened painfully. Walking into the bedroom, he pulled a blanket from his closet. When he returned to the living room, now mostly dark with the sun having completely set hours ago, Tristan found Ellie curled up and fast asleep where he had left her. Opening up the blanket, he knelt and gently tucked it around her, moving the soft wisps of hair away from her face.

 _She looked so blissful, so content; he had to capture it._

He turned to where his easel still stood, the effort reminding him that there was something he needed to take care of first.

Stalking back through his bedroom into the bath, closing the door behind him and opening the door to the shower. He efficiently unzipped his pants, yanking them partially over his hips to free his tortured erection. Grasping the base firmly, he pumped his hand up and down, closing his eyes and thinking of the soft, exquisite woman lying in his bed, the way she had responded to his touch, to his taste. He could still faintly taste her on his tongue, her sweetness lingering in his mouth. He pumped his erection harder and faster, remembering the way she'd, moments ago, held his mouth to her core as if drinking her juices was the only thing that would sustain him. The way her climax had clenched around his fingers sent him over the edge. Tristan groaned loudly, the painful pleasure of his release finally tearing through him, jets of semen shooting onto the shower tiles in front of him as he relived the feel of her muscles flexing around him.

Minutes later, he grabbed a tissue to clean the remnants of his ejaculation off of his still semi-hard erection. Carefully pulling his boxers back up, he shut the door, vowing to clean the shower in the morning and moved into his closet to change into a pair of sweatpants.

Soon enough, he found himself back out in the living room, turning the lights on dimly to stare at the sleeping beauty before him. Tristan's hand began to move over the canvas, tracing her soft, expressive curves. One portrait led to another; this one from earlier – her face when she realized where he had brought her; to another, of her awe-filled expression inside the theatre at the performance; to another, of her face when she told him that she wanted to feel alive. His hand moved of its own volition capturing the nuances of her reactions. Finally settling to trace the tranquil loveliness of Ellie as she slept, undisturbed by the world.

With no consciousness of time or tiredness, he worked. It was only when Ellie moaned and shifted, trying to extend her legs but unable to because of the length of the settee, that the spell was broken.

 _He couldn't let her sleep here._

Setting down the charcoal, he wiped his hands on the drop cloth before going to her, maneuvering his arms underneath to pick her up. She moaned softly as she buried her face into his chest, the warm, softness of her body hardly disguised by the velvet fabric.

Carefully crossing the threshold into his bedroom, he yanked the comforter on his bed down, gently laying Ellie onto the mattress. She whimpered and stirred against him, worrying him that something was wrong.

"Ellie, are you ok? How do you feel?" Tristan asked her softly shaking her blanket-covered shoulder.

"Alive," she whispered, half-asleep, "Finally…alive…" Then she nuzzled her face further into the pillow and fell asleep. Knowing she was ok, Tristan pulled the comforter back over her, completely covering allowing sleep to consume her.

Taking out another spare blanket for himself, he walked back out towards the settee, eyeing up his bed for the night. He paused in front of all the portraits that he had done of her tonight, most from complete memory, laying scattered all over the floor. As he looked at her face in each one, it reinforced his belief that Ellie, too, had secrets.

The thought reminded him of her arms; he hadn't even looked at them earlier – granted, he'd been pretty preoccupied, but there was more to her secrets than what she was physically hiding.

 _Just like there was to his._

He gathered up the pieces, laying them neatly in a pile before laying himself down on the settee, the makeshift bed still warm with a subtle hint of vanilla left behind by its previous occupant. Covering himself with the blanket, he closed his eyes, realizing just how exhausted he was. He wondered, his mind drifting off to sleep if his revenge on Jack Carter was really worth it? Was it worth losing the most potent source of inspiration that he had ever had? The last thought to cross his mind before sleep consumed him was a dreamy awareness that,

 _Ellie hadn't inspired his art, she'd inspired his heart to open, to feel again, and that, he knew, could change his life if he would let it._


	21. Chapter 20

Hey everyone! Hope you are all still enjoying the story! For some reason, I didn't get notifications when I uploaded the last few, new chapters (I think like 17-19) so make sure you've caught up on them in case you didn't get the emails either. Enjoy!

Chapter 20

Ellie sighed, snuggling deeper into the soft pillow and mattress beneath her, relishing in its softness and warmth. Even though she fought it, the slivers of consciousness slipped their way into her well-rested mind, reminding her that she had to wake up eventually.

 _Since when had her bed felt this comfortable in the morning?_

She smiled, just enjoying the moment, when the lucid thought hit her that it had never felt this way because this wasn't her bed.

 _What happened? What had she done?_

She rubbed her eyes, slowing opening them to the memories of what had happened last night. The scene between her and Tristan vividly replaying in her mind as her eyes recognized that she was, in fact, laying in his bed. Slowly moving her head around, she could see that there was no one else in the room, giving her the confidence to slowly roll over and confirm that there was no one else in the bed with her. Turning over onto her left side, she could see that that side of the bed had been left completely undisturbed, the pillows and comforter barely marred by her presence.

 _Where had Tristan slept?_

She wondered with concern knowing that as much as it would have shocked her, he could have slept next to her. Somewhere deep down inside of her warmed at the idea of waking up next to him in the morning. She wondered what his face looked like completely at rest; every time she saw him, he was always so focused, so intense it made her wonder if he ever really relaxed. The closest she had seen him come was when he was drawing her, there was a focused peace over him as if it were just taking a moment to breathe; that rarely lasted, though, since their portrait sessions seemed to be rife with sexual tension.

Ellie gingerly sat up in the bed, realizing with that last thought that she was wrapped in a blanket, but naked underneath. Gathering the material around her, she looked frantically for her clothes, spotting a pile of dark silk on the bench at the end of the bed. On top of her dress sat a crisp, white piece of stationary paper. She picked it up, reading the words scrawled across it:

 _Good morning Ellie,_

 _I hope you slept well. I had to leave for the office earlier and couldn't bring myself to wake you. Make yourself at home, whatever you need. I'll call you later._

 _Tristan_

 _P.S. – You are exquisite when you sleep. See reverse._

Ellie blushed at his words, in total disagreement with them.

 _She was not exquisite, hell, she probably drooled in her sleep._

She contented herself to know that if he saw her now, he'd agree that she looked like more of a sea monster than a siren. Flipping over the card, her breath caught. On the back was a small, rough sketch of her in his bed, fast asleep. Her thumb brushed over her face. Here, here she saw herself like he did. Even though it was by no means very detailed, she could see how serene her face was while she slept, her features in perfect relaxation giving her an ethereal _exquisiteness_.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, setting the card back down where she had found it.

 _How he always managed to make her see something different and beautiful in herself, that was truly the work of an artist._

She stood for a moment and took in his bedroom, like the rest of the common areas, there were windows lining the entire room, gazing out over the rising city. It was beautiful, but a little unnerving – the thought of getting dressed in complete view of the world. Picking up her stack of clothes, she let the note slip off to the side, carrying them into the bathroom to chance; she needed some sort of privacy this morning – a small compensation for her willing and enjoyable exposure last night.

 _Don't be ridiculous, Ellie, it was dark outside, no one could see in or over the furniture to see you._

Setting her clothes on the bathroom counter by the sink, she let the blanket fall to the floor, a small gasp in reaction to what she saw. Her neck and chest dotted with red spots from where Tristan had kissed and bit and sucked on her skin. Her nipples especially were still a vibrant red and very, very sensitive.

 _They'd never received so much attention before._

She shivered as a chill came over her, her breasts painfully erect against the cold assault. She'd shower when she got home, but she needed to just wipe off before that; there was still some residue covering her skin, especially on her inner thighs – a mix of him and her from last night. Browsing through the cupboards, she finally found a washcloth, walking over to the shower to wet it.

Ellie paused when she slid the glass door open, noticing the white streaks down the dark grey tiles.

 _Had he showered this morning?_

She'd been fast asleep, but she couldn't remember hearing any noises coming from the bathroom. No, he couldn't have showered. This must be from last night; she vaguely remembered him walking away from her after he tucked the blanket around her, sleep too potent of a drug for her to resist.

 _Had he…_

Her eyes widened at the thought while her had moved to turn on the water. She hadn't even considered him, as terrible as that sounded. She had seen, _had felt,_ how aroused he had been, but knew that last night he had climaxed with her which meant that he had pleasured her, taken care of her, under the pain of needing release. She'd been barely able to function, to speak, when he brought her that close to the edge, and here, he had held back…for her.

The thought humbled her as she wet the washcloth underneath the warm water; he'd put her first, her needs before his, and only when she was cocooned in comfort did he relieve himself.

 _She was an idiot._

She didn't even realize or think, she'd been so shattered – her orgasm had exploded through her, sending every cell bursting into space, burning so bright with pleasure that they could have lit the night sky with their stellar sparks.

 _Tristan had brought her back down to Earth, like astronomy in reverse; he pulled her into focus with his soft words and gentle touch._

And she had left him, surely tortured with lust.

 _What were you going to do?_

Ellie bit her lip, acknowledging that she wasn't particularly skilled the realm of sex, but she knew enough; next time she wouldn't be the only one to be utterly sated. She angled the shower head against the back wall, washing away the white marks, just as she took the washcloth between her thighs to wipe away the remnants of her own release from her remarkably tender folds.

Finally feeling a semblance of clean, she rung out the cloth and dropped it in what she hoped was the dirty towel bin. Pulling on her crumpled thong, she carefully draped the silk dress over her head, every skin cell feeling the fabric slide over it. Slipping her arms into the sleeves of her blazer she paused, realizing that they too had been completely bared to Tristan last night.

 _He couldn't have seen anything, could he?_

Her mind frantically parsed through the memories, finally concluding that with the lack of light and his intense preoccupation with other areas of her body, he couldn't have seen the scars. Even looking at her arms now, she knew her fears were unfounded. The faint white lines were barely noticeable on the insides of her elbows and wrists; she'd made more of a bigger deal about them then he probably would have.

 _You could have just told him you have a cat._

She huffed, a convenient excuse that was a little too late; too wrapped up in the moment, his questions hitting too close to home; letting him think that she'd been abused by a person, instead of a disease, seemed like the closest thing to the truth.

Seeing the bottle of mouthwash on the counter, she quickly swished with some Listerine, knowing that it would have to do for now. Glancing at herself in the mirror, she splashed some water onto her face from the sink, before smoothing down her hair.

 _Sea monster was pretty accurate._

Her stomach grumbled – she needed to leave. She walked out of the bathroom, stopping at the bed to rearrange the covers as best as she could, picking up the small notecard he had left her on her way out into the living room.

Ellie laughed out loud; sitting in the middle of the kitchen counter was a small plate, on top of which was a chocolate chip muffin, wrapped in plastic, the tie around which she read as she got closer – _Eat me._

Again, her stomach grumbled, threatening to revolt if she didn't obey the delicious orders. Opening the plastic wrap, she took out the moist muffin, biting into its sweetness. Enjoying the not-so-nutritive, but yet so satisfying breakfast, she looked out across the condo, first noticing the bright blue, clear skies that illuminated the entire room.

Her eyes then trailed instinctively to the living room, the scene of the crime. The wine spatter all over the drop cloth next to the settee where the glass had tipped. Ellie blushed remembering her concern about…and what Tristan's response had been.

 _'The only thing I care about having all over the carpet is you.'_

She shivered as the words touched the most carnal part of her. She remembered telling him how she wanted to feel 'alive'.

 _How he had made her feel could have raised the dead._

She closed her eyes, taking another bite of the muffin, and trying to refocus herself. Walking over, drawn to the memories of the spot, she noticed the crumpled blanket at the edge of the settee, and how the pillow at the other end had been positioned.

 _This is where he had spent the night._

She set the muffin down, bending to pick up the blanket and fold it, feeling guilty that he had surely slept uncomfortably out here while she had rested peacefully in his bed. She knew why Tristan had slept here, she remembered how he had abruptly pulled back from her, distancing himself; he was afraid he couldn't control his desire for her. She'd seen the look in his eyes – the longing, the pain, and the forceful control that contained it, and she had continued to torment him. Ellie remembered how she had stood, foolishly attempting to cover herself…

 _'when I just had my tongue buried inside of you.'_

Warm liquid rushed between her thighs, her lower parts remembering even more clearly the sensations that had evoked.

Then, her body, overwhelmed with every sense, gave way. He'd caught her, thankfully, and she wished she could chalk it up to the overpowering orgasm, but deep down she knew it was because of her weakened health that she had collapsed. Tears welled in her eyes as she tried not to think about it, but there was no denying that something was going on. Even with the medications, this wasn't the first time this week that she'd almost collapsed; twice in the elevator at her father's firm, she gotten out and had to pretend that she dropped something, or that something was wrong with her shoe, allowing herself to bend over and let blood flow back into her brain. Then, on Wednesday, at home, she'd gotten out of the shower – the heat and the steam almost suffocating her. Again, thankfully, she'd made it out, away from the glass doors before she collapsed onto the floor, her vision going back, nausea rolling through her.

Today, she'd have to call. She had an appointment for her bloodwork on Friday, but after last night, she couldn't wait that long and she knew that Dr. Sion wouldn't want her to.

 _She'd felt alive._

A tear escaping down her face, she tilted her head down to wipe the offending liquid from her cheek, now able to clearly see the extent of the wine stain on the cloth, the sight blessedly distracting her from her worries. It looked like Tristan had at least removed the glasses from the floor this morning.

Turning, she saw his sketchpad was back up on the easel. Walking around it, her eyes widened at what she saw. Ellie turned over page after page, sketch after sketch of herself. Better than her memory, she relived the events of yesterday through Tristan's eyes, a flipbook of her emotions as they had transpired throughout the day. She paused on some longer than others – the ones where she didn't even realize he had been watching her, like at the theatre, or the very last ones where he had drawn her as she slept with the same peaceful expression on her face as the drawing on the back of the note that he had left her.

She looked at the images in cognitive dissonance, how she saw herself contradicting what the portraits in front of her showed. In the theatre, she'd been awed and amazed, and yet still felt like a fool that she'd never been there before – sure that all of the other patrons would laugh at how easily impressed that she was. Just like when she had connected the dots and realized where he had taken her, she had reacted as if someone had given her the cure for cancer.

 _Ok, maybe not quite to that extent, but close._

When they had walked into the theatre, she'd felt ridiculous for accosting him on the street like she had; to her, she'd acted like a silly child – overreacting in her excitement. Conversely, from Tristan's eyes, from the image that he drew, she only saw the depth of gratitude and unrestricted joy that he had provided her.

 _Cognitive dissonance – the Ellie that she assumed herself to be was not the one in these drawings, or was she?_

She wished she could always see herself through his eyes, then maybe should wouldn't be so hard on herself. Flipping the pad closed, she crumbled the muffin wrapper up in her hand, going back into the kitchen to throw it away. With one last, long, hard look at the safety of the condo, she slipped on her shoes and gathered her purse.

Walking out the door, she thought that if Tristan drew her now, she'd be able see herself as unbreakably brave; without him, she instead felt fearful and frail as she pulled out her phone to dial Dr. Sion.

"Hi, this is Elsa Carter. I'm calling because I was wondering if I could move up my appointment to have blood drawn to this afternoon. Dr. Sion told me to call if I thought my symptoms were getting worse, so I guess this means that they are…"


	22. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

Tristan tapped his pen absentmindedly on the table in front of him, listening to his people and Vanguard's lawyers go back and forth. He winced as the toe of Donna's hard shoe collided with his shin. She glared at him and then at his pen, making him aware how unconsciously obnoxious he was being.

 _Fuck, this meeting could not end soon enough; he wanted to call Ellie._

He really didn't even need to be here for this; his lawyer knew exactly what he needed from the deal, Tristan's presence was just for show of sincerity. They were close; of course, Vanguard wanted more for their company than he was willing to pay, but that was always the case. Today was to show them the true value of their assets so that Jim Bose, the CEO, would realize just how fair of an offer he was getting for the company.

All of that though, was the furthest thing from his mind. No, the only asset on his mind was the one he had left warm and cozy in his bed this morning. He'd been running late – forgetting to set an alarm last night. Waking up in frustration, he quickly tossed on clothes, picked up the wine glasses that had toppled over last night, folded Ellie's clothes, and left a muffin out for her. When he'd stopped back in the bedroom, unable to help himself to the gorgeous view of her sleeping soundly in his bed, red hair strewn wildly over the pillows. As late as he had been, he couldn't stop himself from kneeling next to the nightstand where he'd been about to leave her note, and take three minutes to sketch her face.

 _And he could just imagine her face when she saw it._

Tristan was pulled from his thoughts as the teams of lawyers both rose, signaling an end to the meeting; if only that meant a conclusion of the deal, but no, Vanguard would take their proposal and reasoning back and submit a counter.

 _That was the way business went, especially with lawyers involved._

Tristan stood stoically, shaking hands with the lawyers as they exited his conference room with a curt smile on his face. Thanking his own lawyers and a nod at Donna, he followed suit, heading back into the privacy of his office.

Walking behind his desk, he immediately picked up his cell phone, intent on calling Ellie when he realized that Pierce had sent him a message while he was in the meeting.

\- _We can talk this weekend; I'll stop by. Don't make plans._

Tristan's mouth thinned with annoyance. He should have known Pierce would be demanding in his effort to fix this, and what was he going to say? Nothing, because he punched him and now it was time to make up for it.

\- _Sure. Earlier the better._

Tristan texted him back, hoping Pierce would show up Saturday morning before he asked Ellie to come over.

 _That was a conversation he was not looking forward to._

What was he going to say? How was he going to explain it? Work frustrations – Pierce would never believe that. No, he'd have to tell him something about Ellie. Maybe he could just suck it up and admit that he had feelings for her – it was the truth, it was believable, and it would deter any further probing that might have Pierce realize why Tristan got involved with her specifically in the first place.

He pushed Pierce off his mind, tapping on Ellie's name to call her. His fingers began to absentmindedly tap on the desk when she didn't pick up after the first…second…third…fourth…

"Hello?" her voice finally sounded from the other end, albeit a bit flustered and breathless.

"Good morning, Ellie," he said, "everything ok?"

"Yeah…ooo…crap," she uttered as he heard the sounds of something falling and then commotion from her end of the line.

"What's going on?" he asked, concerned, wondering where she was and what she was doing.

"Sorry, hold on one sec," she said, her voice distant from the phone, probably as she attempted to right whatever mess had been made.

He waited, the tapping of his fingers now even annoying him as he heard her say something to someone else, unable to hear exactly what since the phone seemed to be muffled.

"I'm so sorry, Tristan," she gushed, her voice now coming clearly through the line, "I was trying to answer your call, but my hands were full and I dropped my clipboard, and, of course, everything came out of it, so I was trying to clean that up—"

"Ellie, calm down, it's fine," he breathed a sigh of relief, "I thought that noise sounded familiar to me. Do you need me to teach you how to hold onto a clipboard?"

He heard her laugh on the other end of the line, as the tension seemed to leave the tone of her voice. "No, I just need you to stop making me drop them, that's all," she retorted.

"Oh, so it's my fault now?" he laughed.

"Of course," she replied, stubbornly.

"I see," he began, "how was your sweet treat this morning?"

"Very delicious – chocolate chip muffins are always just what I need."

"Good. I thought about waking you this morning, but you looked like you were dead to the world, so I figured you needed your rest," he began, "I'll happily take the blame for that too."

Ellie tried to smile as his attempt to joke, she tried to think of something clever to respond with, but his words 'dead to the world' jarred her, as she sat in her oncologist's waiting room, having just handed in her paperwork, waiting to be taken back.

 _The thought of how easily it would be for his joke to become her reality had stunned her._

"Ellie? You there?" concern evident in his voice.

"Yes, sorry, sorry," she stuttered, "I might let you take the blame for that…" Her response was weak and Tristan knew it.

"Where are you?" he finally asked, hearing the distraction in her voice.

"Sorry, I'm in the waiting room at the doctors, trying not to be too loud… _or lewd_ ," she whispered into the phone.

 _Omissions, not lies._

"Well, that explains the clipboard," he began, "is everything ok?"

"I'm just having a checkup; I was feeling under the weather a week or so ago and they put me on antibiotics, so now they just want to take some bloodwork and stuff," she replied, trying to make everything sound as routine as humanly possible without directly answering his question.

 _Everything was not ok, there was no way to lie about that._

"I see," Tristan said, almost believing her, then again, having no reason not to. "Well then, you should definitely keep your lewdness under control. I, on the other hand, have no such restrictions at the moment and therefore wish that you were here, sprawled across my desk, your legs wide for me so that I could enjoy a _very_ sweet treat this morning, too."

Ellie gasped, her elbow sliding off the armrest on the chair, knocking her purse onto the ground. Her face beet-red as she tried to nonchalantly clean up her mess while the scattered patients in the waiting room eyed her curiously. Tristan, meanwhile, laughing heartily on the other end, hearing the commotion he had caused.

"You are…" she huffed into the phone softly as she finally gathered the last of her items back into the confines of her bag, "incorrigible."

"Did you say irresistible?" he teased back.

"No, absolutely –" she cut off as the door to the waiting room opened and the nurse who came in called her name, "I have to go, Tristan."

"I wish you didn't," he said regretfully, "this Saturday, my place at six."

"Ok, goodbye Tristan."

"Goodbye, siren," he said as he ended the call. Glancing down, he saw that his attempt to unnerve her had also uncaged his arousal.

 _God, this was a constant fucking problem with her._

He'd never been so uncomfortable, so frequently in his entire life, he thought as he shifted in his seat. Next, he tapped on Sloane's name, figuring he should probably talk to him before meeting with Pierce.

"Hello?" answered Sloane's reserved voice.

"Hey, you busy tonight?"

"Why?"

"Pierce got back to me, he's coming by this weekend. I thought we could grab drinks later," Tristan said, his answers implying that he wanted to talk to Sloane about how this was going to go down. Having not seen or heard from Pierce since the other morning, there were many possible scenarios – most of them not ending well for either of them or the Guild.

"Yeah, I can meet you later," Sloane replied, resignation in his voice about having to be brought into their disagreement.

"Seven at the Roof?"

"Yeah," his friend replied before hanging up the phone.

He knew Sloane didn't want to be pulled into the middle of this but too fucking bad; he was the only one who could get through to Pierce and he would be the one to know how to fix this with the least amount of damage possible.

Ellie fumbled to put her cell away, apologizing to the nurse for being on the phone. She was glad they called her before she had finished her conversation with Tristan – having to sit in the waiting room after the embarrassing scene… _scenes…_ she'd caused would have been unfortunate.

She swallowed deeply as the nurse led her into one of the patient rooms, telling her to sit on the table so they could review her symptoms before Dr. Sion came in. Just as the nurse, Margaret, began to question her, the door to the room opened and Dr. Sion rushed in.

"Hey, Ellie," she exclaimed. "Thanks, Marge, I can take it from here."

Ellie smiled at her doctor gratefully. Not that she minded talking to the nurse, but Dr. Sion had been there with her through _everything_ ; she'd become more like family over the last few years, the way that she always treated Ellie with priority, answering her calls and texts, sometimes into the early hours of the morning when Ellie was truly afraid she might be dying from pain.

"I'm so sorry to stop in on you like this, I know Amy had to rearrange the schedule to get me in this afternoon, but I'm really worried," Ellie said, biting her lip, trying to stop the tears from forming in her eyes.

"What's going on? Have the antibiotics not helped?" Dr. Sion replied, handing Ellie a tissue.

"Yes, and no. Some things are better, but I feel like I'm getting weaker. I've passed out four times this week," Ellie explained.

"Have you finished the antibiotics? Have you had any other symptoms?"

"Almost, I have one more day left, and other than that, nothing really jumps out – just general weakness, maybe a few days where I felt a little nauseous, but nothing more noticeable than the fainting."

"Ok, and were you doing anything in particular before passing out? Anything out of the usual?" the doctor asked as she scribbled notes into Ellie's chart.

"Not…really," Ellie answered, "the one time I was getting out of the shower, the others, getting off the elevator." She left out the last time after Tristan made her orgasm; it was oddly the other instances that were more concerning to her. With Tristan, she'd been exerting herself, she'd had wine, and she'd gone from laying to standing in a few seconds…that time was understandable in her mind.

"Ok, interesting. Well, it's still far too premature to say what is going on, so we won't jump to conclusions, right?" she more so instructed than asked, knowing how fragile this moment was for Ellie.

"Right," Ellie responded with a deep breath, watching as Dr. Sion took notes in her chart.

"Ok," Dr. Sion replied, looking at her questioningly before going back to her note taking, "well, we'll just take some blood and see what's really going on." Her reassurance fell on deaf ears.

She didn't want to, but she was panicking inside. "Ok," Ellie replied with a weak smile.

"Ellie, please," Dr. Sion said imploringly, "please don't be stressed about this. It will only make whatever is going on worse."

"I know," Ellie whispered, a tear slipping down her cheek, her hand coming up to quick brush it away with the tissue.

"Ellie," the doctor said sternly, "you've been cancer-free for almost a year. It's extremely unlikely that it's beginning to recur; we hit it and we hit it hard this last time."

"I know," she replied, trying to put on a brave face, "I just…I just feel like I'm so close, so close to being free of it, and now, I'm afraid that I'll never be."

"You can't think like that, ok?" Dr. Sion said, handing her another tissue and placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Look, dear, I have to go. I'll have Marge come back in and take your blood and I will call you as soon as I hear anything, alright?"

"Yes, thank you," Ellie said gratefully.

"And then I want you to go home or go see your dad, eat some ice cream, relax, read a book, and _not_ worry about what _could_ happen. Doctor's orders!" she exclaimed as she set Ellie's chart down and left the room.

A few seconds later, Marge re-entered the room, needles and vials in hand, giving Ellie the smile that she hated – the one that suggested every action, every kindness, was done out of pity.

 _Poor Ellie. "Such a beautiful girl, to have her life wasted like this." "Don't work so hard Ellie, you don't want to get sick." "We don't want to give you too much work and overtax you." "Why don't you go home early today, you aren't looking well." "Don't beat yourself up, Ellie, you would have done great things if it weren't for the cancer."_

She knew she sounded ridiculous. They meant it out of kindness, compassion, she knew that, but it made her feel weak. It fueled the belief inside of her that she wasn't good enough, that because of her cancer, she wasn't enough and it was ok because she had a good excuse for it. That's why she loved spending time with Tristan; he didn't know, which meant he didn't baby her, he didn't worry that the wrong food, the wrong drink, too much exertion, too much emotion, might bring back her cancer.

 _She wanted to be strong, but no one would let her._

And that was why she hated the pity-smile, because it said 'don't worry, dear, you're sick, you're weak, I'll take care of it for you.'

 _She just wanted to take care of herself dammit!_

And so, she sat, patiently and unfeeling, as the needles punctured her veins, adding to the tattoos of IV scars dotting her forearms.

When Marge was done collecting the samples, Ellie thanked her and made her way out of the office. Pulling out her phone, she paused, unable to hit the number to call her dad; she couldn't deal with someone else wanting to baby her. Maybe tomorrow she could call her him, or maybe stop in and see him. Now, though, all she really wanted to do was call Tristan, to talk to him, hear him tease her, hear him talk dirty to her; she'd pretend to be offended, even though it those words gave her the most incredible feelings – the ones that told her that she was enough.

 _But she couldn't._

Ellie knew how vulnerable she was right now, how emotional. The slightest hint, one poorly placed joke, and she could break – telling him everything that she never wanted him to know. So, if she couldn't have Tristan, she decided on the next best amnesiac – a healthy glass of wine.

When Tristan got to the bar, Sloane was already there waiting for him; he wasn't surprised. Sloane played by the rules and was always early – the truest gentleman of them all.

"Hey, thanks for coming," Tristan greeted him, "sorry I'm late." He wasn't late, he was just later than Sloane.

"Yeah, it's fine. What's going on?" Sloane asked, getting right to the point, watching Tristan with his intensely penetrating blue eyes.

Before responding, Tristan turned to the Roof's bartender and ordered a Jameson on the rocks – a double. He turned back to Sloane with a questioning gaze, silently asking if he wanted anything. Sloane responded with a shake of his head, lifting up a glass that was sitting on the other side of him. Again, Tristan wasn't surprised at his refusal, and would bet his life that the clear liquid in the glass was nothing more than club soda; that was how Sloane was.

"Pierce got back to me that he'll stop by this weekend. I need you to tell me how to fix this," he said bluntly.

"Why would I know?"

"Seriously, Sloane, I know you've talked to Pierce, I know he's said something to you. I'm asking for your insight because the last time we had a disagreement, I punched him in the face; I'm trying to avoid that this time."

"You want my advice? Do whatever you have to do, say whatever you have to say, to make it right."

"What does he want?" Tristan asked, taking a sip of his just-delivered drink.

"What do you think?" Sloane returned.

 _God, he wished Sloane would just make this easy for him, but Tristan knew that he wasn't about to go spreading information or giving advice that would draw him further into a dispute that he was originally not part of._

"I don't know; he probably just wants to win that goddamn competition. Is that it? I'll submit something shitty if that's what it takes," Tristan offered, knowing deep down that that wasn't going to satisfy his friend.

"Think about why you punched him, Tris, maybe that's where you should start."

 _That's what he was afraid of. He didn't want to start with Ellie; he didn't want Ellie involved at all, but he was the one that brought her into this mess, and he wasn't going to tear apart the Guild over it._

Sloane stared at him, waiting for his answer. Taking a large sip of his drink, Tristan set the glass down in resignation.

"I don't want to tell him about her," he admitted, refraining from meeting Sloane's eyes. Just as Sloane began to respond, he felt his phone buzz.

"Why?" he heard his friend ask, but Tristan's focus drawn elsewhere as soon as he realized that it was a text from Ellie. He opened it afraid something was wrong – what if something happened at the doctor's? He shook his head; conditioned responses like that died hard.

\- _Hey_

 _~ Hey, what's up? Everything ok?_ He responded quickly, looking back up at Sloane as if he was still expecting him to say something.

"I asked you why…" Sloane repeated, his eyes narrowing on the phone clutched in Tristan's hand.

"Because I don't trust him with her," he responded bluntly, waiting anxiously to hear back from Ellie.

"Who is she?"

"You know, you met her…" Tristan replied, confused.

"No, Tris, who is she to you?"

Tristan felt his phone buzz again, restraining himself from answer immediately even though it was his first instinct. Instead he focused on trying to answer Sloane's questions.

"I don't know; she's someone… I want her to be someone to me," he replied honestly, his hand coming to wipe over his mouth in exasperation, not at the question, but at the answer that he was searching for.

"You didn't come here to talk about Pierce, did you?" Sloane asked, perceptively. Tristan glared at him for a second, turning then to request another double from the bartender.

"You know Pierce is going to ask you about her, or expect you to tell him about her; you're not an idiot. No, you're not here because of him, you're here because of her," Sloane continued.

"Fuck, I don't know what to do," Tristan admitted, sipping his new glass of whiskey. The alcohol made it easier for him to talk, but it also made it harder for him to resist. Opening up his phone, he looked at Ellie's last text – or last two texts, he must have missed the second buzz.

\- _Yeah. Everythngs wondrful_

 _\- nope, thas a lie. It would be better if u were here_

Tristan read the messages twice, making sure that it wasn't the alcohol that he'd consumed that were making it seem like she was drunk and texting him.

 _Nope, those typos were all her own._

He knew Sloane was watching him, but he couldn't help himself.

~ _Have you had something to drink, gorgeous?_

Returning his focus to their conversation, Tristan looked at Sloane and shrugged his shoulders with a sigh, honestly not knowing what to do.

"Tris, you asked me here, if you have something you want to talk about then talk. I know you have feelings for her, we've already established that. I'm also not going to pretend I don't know who she is, or that I don't have ideas about why you are involved with her, but I'm also not going to concern myself with it unless you want me to, or unless it becomes a problem for me."

"All I know is that I had a plan," Tristan began, "and that plan seems to have gone widely off its charted course to the point where I don't even know that I want to end at the same destination."

 _Buzz._

"I know I said that I might have feelings for her, but that might has turned into a definite. Fuck, it's like I can't even breathe without thinking about her."

"So, what's the problem? I told you none of us would care…"

"You said you know who she is," Tristan said, giving Sloane a hard stare before glancing down at his phone.

\- _I may have. Although it's not a fun without you…_

 _~ I'm having a drink too, but it's definitely not as good as drinking you._

 _\- Then what's stopping you from having a better one?_

A small groan crept from his mouth at her suggestive response; he wanted to. _Fuck,_ how he wanted to, but he couldn't right now, no matter how much the hard ridge in his pants begged him otherwise.

"So what if she's Jack Carter's daughter? Wouldn't that make it more likely for him to give you back?" Sloane asked, annoyance evident in his voice at the fact that Tristan seemed only semi-participating in the conversation.

"Not if I want planning on breaking her heart as revenge," he answered darkly, staring down at his drink. The relief he felt in sharing was outweighed by the disgust he felt for himself.

"Then just don't. It's not rocket science," Sloane scoffed.

"No fucking shit, Sloane. I know it's not rocket science to make that choice, but what about the choice I've already made? The one where I made a deal with her father – her portrait for my mothers. Even if I don't intentionally hurt her, tell me how that doesn't fucking break her just as much? Knowing that the only reason I picked her was because her dad asked me too," Tristan practically yelled, unable to keep his frustration bottled up inside him anymore.

He downed the rest of his second drink, hoping the burn of the alcohol would drown out the burning in his chest. Sure, he could break it off with her and that would hurt her, but even if he didn't, she would need to know how… _why…_ they met, and explaining that would kill her. Somehow, he had opened up her text message again, staring at her enticingly, intoxicated words, compelled to respond.

~ _Responsibilities, sweetheart._

From the start, he knew that she looked down on herself, never feeling good enough or like she deserved any of his attention. He didn't know the details, why she struggled to see herself the way that he did, but he had a feeling it had to do with the abuse she endured in the past.

If he told her that they hadn't met by choice, but by conspiracy – that he'd been compelled to pick her, it would solidify every assumption she made about herself that he'd been working so hard to change.

"You broke our rules," Sloane said, his voice eerily calm.

"I know," Tristan replied, not even wasting the effort trying to deny it. "I'm sorry."

A quick glance over at his partner confirmed the anger brimming underneath the surface.

" _Fuck,_ I know," Tristan said again, running his hand roughly through his hair, "but, I needed it back; I needed the portrait back."

"And there was no other way?" Sloane asked tightly, not even meeting his gaze.

"No."

They sat in silence for a minute, the buzz of Tristan's phone the only sound between them. He didn't pick it up though, as hard as that was knowing that it was Ellie. His mind conflicted in anger and frustration, knowing that he'd let his partner, his friend, down. Tristan was the leader; he'd created the Guild, he'd made the rules…and now, here he was, breaking them and, worse than trying to hide it, he was trying to justify it.

"I'm going to say what I said before," Sloane began quietly, "this is your problem to fix however you see fit. You were the one who suggested these rules, and I understand the extenuating circumstances, but know that just because you made them, doesn't make you exempt. If at any point, the situation is in danger of threatening the Guild and our work, I _expect_ you to step down and leave."

Tristan let out the breath he had been holding. Sloane wasn't the type to demand he leave the Guild immediately; Pierce, on the other hand, would have been a different story. That being said, he knew that Sloane's perception of him had changed tonight; he'd let him down.

"I will," Tristan vowed.

"As far as how to handle it with your girl…I don't know that I have the answer to that. The way I see it, at some point, you'll either have to leave her or tell her. You'll have to choose to hurt her to a known extent or choose the option that might completely crush her, but might also completely save your relationship; you'll have to choose between the devil you know and the devil you don't."

Tristan hung his head in acknowledgement of the decision he would ultimately face. Sloane always knew how to provide a clear, outside perspective – that's why Tristan had reached out to him. As he raised his hand to signal the bartender for a third round, the unfortunate, unspoken conclusion of Sloane's thoughts rang loud and clear in his head.

 _It's safer to choose the devil you know._

Hey everyone! I'm SO excited because today is release day for the Artist's Touch on Amazon! If you can't wait to finish Tristan and Ellie's story this weekend, you can pick up the eBook for only $2.99 on Amazon (or for FREE if you are a Kindle Unlimited subscriber)! Otherwise, stay tuned for the rest of the story to be posted here over the next coming weeks. As always - I love hearing your thoughts so don't hesitate to message me or follow me on Facebook or Instagram :) Happy reading! xx, Rebecca


	23. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

Ellie woke the following morning to her usual seven AM alarm, the beeping particularly painful this morning due to the throbbing in her temples.

 _Perhaps the half a bottle of red wine had not been the best idea._

Best or not, it had been needed – the hours of ignorantly blissful amnesia it provided far outweighed the current discomfort in her head. Groggily reaching over, she grabbed the source of the offending noise, shutting the alarm off to see that she had an unread message from Tristan; the realization quickly reviving her. Opening up the message, she quickly scanned the text before promptly shoving her head back into the pillow.

- _Good morning, siren. I thoroughly enjoyed our conversation last night, as I heard you did, too. Hopefully, this morning isn't too painful for you though. You should really ease into drinking that much._

Ellie groaned in mortification – _what had she done?_

Taking a few deep breaths into her pillow, she wondered whether it would be curiosity or embarrassment that killed her first.

 _Curiosity won out._

Pulling her phone back in front of her face, she scrolled up through the conversation she'd apparently had with Tristan last night of which, she had little recollection. She stopped her finger right at the part where Tristan told her he couldn't come over for a drink because he had 'responsibilities', the words vaguely familiar in her memory, everything after them though was a complete blank. Biting her lip, she began reading a part of her night that was lost to the wine.

~ _I say that you join me in forgetting responsibilities for a night and choose fun instead._

 _\- Are you drunk, siren?_

 _~ I dunno…Am I? What does it feel like?_

 _\- Relaxing. Every cell in your body feels numb. Your body feels on fire._

 _~ So, like after you make me come?_

 _\- Fuck, Ellie. No, not quite like that._

 _~ I was gonna say, this doesn't feel as good…_

Ellie locked her phone humiliation, putting her hand up to her face to feel her cheeks on fire. She could never drink again; she didn't remember thinking or saying any of this. Opening up the message again, she continued to read,

\- _Let me show you how._

 _~ You said you couldn't come here._

 _\- I'm not, but you don't need me._

 _~ I don't understand._

 _\- Ellie, I want you to imagine that I'm there and trust me, I fucking wish that I was. I want you to take your hand and touch yourself. You're already wet, trust me._

 _~ I can't do that._

 _\- You can._

The conversation abruptly ended there. Ellie reread the words over again, trying to remember what happened. When she closed her eyes, her memory was a blank, but all she could hear was Tristan's voice, ' _Touch yourself. Put one finger inside. Tell me how warm it is inside.'_ His words rang crystal-clear, as if she had actually heard him say them.

Her eyes shot open, closing the message and opening up her 'Recent Calls'. Sure enough, Tristan Black was at the top of the list.

 _She'd heard him, because he had called her. She'd heard him, because he'd actually said those things to her._

Brief snapshots of the end to her night now flashed back to her. His deep, dark voice instructing her to take off her underwear. Her moans at the first touch of her own fingers on the slick folds that had been contained beneath, her gasp as she put two fingers inside of herself. The struggle between focusing on her pleasure and focusing on Tristan's voice, on doing what he was telling her. She remembered answering him, " _I'm so wet, Tristan."_

 _"Wet for me,_ " he bit out, his own desire for her evident in his voice.

" _Yes_ ," she'd whispered back, even though what he said wasn't a question.

She remembered her orgasm, screaming his name into the phone. She couldn't remember what he had said then. She felt like he wished her goodnight just before alcohol and exhaustion completely overtook her.

Setting her phone down, she rolled over with a sigh, rubbing her legs together to confirm that yes, what she remembered wasn't a dream because she was still missing her lower undergarments. Staring at the ceiling, Ellie started to laugh.

 _Getting drunk. Drunk texting her hot boss. Who was she turning into?_

Whomever it was, she wanted to be her more often.

She sat up in bed, reaching over into her nightstand drawer to pull out a fresh pair of underwear. Feeling relatively clothed, she struggled out of the warm comfort of her bed, traipsing into the kitchen in search of food. Thankfully, her apartment wasn't freshly stocked with chocolate chip muffins, which meant she could have a decently healthy breakfast this morning. Pulling the carton of yogurt from the fridge, she mixed in some fresh blueberries and a little bit of granola, taking a seat at her small kitchen table.

Her apartment wasn't anything special – certainly not like Tristan's. She'd made good money working for her father and she was sure that part of that was due to the fact that he _was_ her father, but the argument to be paid less was not one worth having. Jack Carter was a stubborn man, and when he had an idea of what he wanted done, that's what got done. He hadn't always been like that, Ellie was pretty sure; it seemed to get worse after her mother had died when he'd had to make all the decisions, there was no time to question them.

Her father was a determined man, that was for sure, but when it came to his daughter, she was probably the only one who could force his hand – which she'd had to do when she decided to leave his firm. He was hurt and sad, asking her if it was about the money or the workload, concerned that he hadn't given her enough of one and too much of the other. She'd reassured him over and over again that neither was the case, explaining that her heart just wasn't in it, and now that she felt like she had time to follow her heart, she wasn't going to pass up the chance. As soon as she had put her foot down and told him that she was sorry, but that she wouldn't work for him anymore, he had caved. Apologizing for not understanding, he told her over and over again how proud he was of her, not just for the work she had done for him, but whatever she chose to do in the future, he would always be in her corner.

He'd then offered to pay for whatever she wanted or needed until she got a job in whatever field she decided on. Ellie laughed at the offer; she wasn't going ask him for any more help. He'd paid for all of her hospital bills and medication, whatever insurance didn't cover. He'd paid her for sick time that she knew she wasn't supposed to be getting. He was her father and he'd done everything to make sure she wasn't strained by anything other than her cancer, which was the only thing out of his control.

Her dad had been almost more upset by her refusal of his financial support than when she told her she was quitting his firm. She needed to just be on her own now, after being handicapped for so long. Everything that she had endured, and everything that her father had done to help her, made it so that she had a nice little nest egg put aside for her next…her first adventure. She could be out of work for a _very_ long time and as long as she didn't go crazy, it wouldn't affect her lifestyle. Even now, she was making money with this modeling contract with Tristan. It wasn't a lot, but it sure was a lot more than she had expected – almost five-thousand dollars for the duration of the project. When she signed the contract, it had seemed exorbitant. Now, after meeting him, it made a little more sense.

 _Crap!_

Ellie darted back into the bedroom, just remembering that she forgot to respond to his text from earlier. Opening her phone, she saw that she had another new message from him.

\- _Are you ok?_

She quickly typed up a response, grateful that the auto-correct Gods seemed to be on her side today.

~ _Yes, sorry…it was a rough night. Or I guess more so a painful morning._

 _\- I was going to say, it sounded to me like you thoroughly enjoyed yourself last night._

Ellie blushed, knowing the pun was intentional.

~ _Did you?_

 _\- I enjoyed all the parts that involved you._

 _~ Was there more than one? I don't remember._

 _\- Let's just say you weren't the only one who needed a release last night, siren._

Ellie choked on a piece of granola, quickly trying to wash it down with some water. Her stomach clenched as she pictured Tristan jacking off to the thought of her.

 _Wow, that was a turn-on._

Just as she was sure hearing her masturbate last night had been to him.

~ _So, have you addressed all of your responsibilities?_

 _\- I wish – big week for me and Black Box, hopefully._

 _~ I'm sure it will be; I don't know that I've ever seen or heard of you not getting what you want._

 _\- Oh, there have been times, sweetheart, there have been times…I can even think of one in the past twelve hours._

Ellie knew he was referring to her. Before she could respond, another message came in from him.

 _\- I have no doubt my business responsibilities will be successful, what I'm more concerned about is how I'm going to celebrate that success this coming weekend._

 _~ What did you have in mind?_

 _\- You. Saturday night. My place at six o'clock. Wear something nice, we'll celebrate in style._

Ellie felt shivers run down her spine in anticipation.

 _~ Yes, boss._

 _\- Feeling sassy this morning, are we?_

 _~ Maybe._

 _\- Well, siren, I gotta go work on those responsibilities of mine. I'll deal with that smart mouth of yours later._

Ellie bit her lip as her face broke into a smile. She loved how he made her feel interesting and intriguing. She'd tried to just blend in for so long, lost in the pain and uncertainty of where her cancer would leave her, wondering if was her destiny to just fade into nothingness. When she'd gone into remission, she'd been given a second chance – one that she didn't know how to take. Now, because of Tristan, she was finally starting to figure it out; she was finally starting to figure out how to make a new path for her life.

 _Unless…_

As if the universe knew just where that thought would take her (back to her appointment yesterday), her phone began to buzz. At first, she thought it was Tristan again, but unless he was calling from his office line, the phone number that showed up wasn't recognized.

She picked up the call, "Hello?"

"Hi, is this Elsa Carter?" the polite receptionist responded.

"Yes, speaking."

"Hi, this is Elaine from Dr. Sion's office. She wanted me to give you a call and see if you would be available to come in this coming Saturday to see her?"

"I…um…sure." Ellie swallowed the lump in her throat. "Is everything ok?"

"She just wants to go over the results of your blood test with you in person. They should be back to us by the end of day Friday and she was adamant that she sees you on Saturday," Elaine offered, her attempt to make the appointment sound routine and not a cause for worry failing.

 _Crap, Saturday._

"Of course," Ellie replied, her voice thick as she tried to retain control of her emotions, "what time do you have available?"

"She's pretty busy, but, like I said, she was insistent that we get you in, so if you could come for four o'clock?"

 _Double crap._

"That's fine."

"Wonderful. We'll see you on Saturday then." Ellie numbly hung up the phone, setting it face down on the counter.

It was never good when they wanted to discuss test results in person. Picking up her bowl, she walked over and put it in the sink in a daze. On top of that, of course Dr. Sion wanted to see her on Saturday, just hours before she was supposed to meet Tristan. If she had to be there at four, she should still be able to make it to his apartment on time. It never took that long to go over results…even when the results were unfavorable.

 _For the third time._

She blinked as drops of cold water dropped splashed on her face, realizing that somehow, she'd made it into her bathroom and was turning on the shower. Her body was mindlessly going through the motions of what she needed to accomplish this morning even though her mind was far, far away. At least she didn't feel the pounding in her head anymore; she didn't feel the chill of the air as she stripped naked; she didn't feel the ice-cold water as she stepped in the shower before it had a chance to warm up.

 _The cold never bothered her, anyway._

It froze away the anxious heat flowing through her body, her brain refusing to consider the option that everything could be _fine._

 _Having cancer teaches you to never hope for the best, because not expecting the worst is far more devastating._

Ellie mindlessly washed her hair and body, slowing scrubbing over the scars from her hospital stays. Every time she cleaned over them it was like she was trying to wash the evidence of her past off her body – knowing it was an impossibility.

 _Just like she felt it was now an impossibility to wipe the cancer completely from her body._

She knew she was crying because her tears were warm against her cheek, in contrast with the chilled water from the shower.

 _What was she going to do?_

 _Would she tell Tristan? Could she tell Tristan?_

Ellie shook her head in a silent answer. She'd seen what losing her mom had done to her dad. She couldn't do that to Tristan, even if he begged her to. If it came to that, the cancer wouldn't take her gently, it wouldn't take her gracefully, it would take her slowly and cruelly; the process would be ugly. He would never want to draw her like that, he would never even recognize her.

 _Her 'exquisiteness' would be extinguished._

Stepping out of the shower into the steamy solitude of her bathroom, Ellie dried herself off, glancing at her heat-flushed skin in the mirror. She hadn't planned on showering again before her appointment and going to see Tristan tonight, but she'd been so cold after deciding to walk home from her dad's. His penthouse was only a few blocks away, but she'd craved the chill in the air to calm the anxieties on her mind.

She finally did as Dr. Sion had asked and talked to her dad. Ellie could see his heart breaking behind the façade of confidence in his eyes. She'd tried to give him the impression that she was still looking forward and would keep moving forward, continuing her research on international destinations and opportunities that she might enjoy and he, in turn, talked down her worries almost as well as the doctor had – " _I'm sure it's nothing to be worried about, Ellie. Dr. Sion knows what she is talking about. Do you want me to come with you on Saturday?"_ She'd played along, assuring him that she agreed, and played it off, telling him that she just wanted to keep him in the loop.

They both knew their bravado was just for show, but that's how they were – two peas of a pod. Maybe she'd inherited it, maybe she'd just learned it from watching her father most of her life, but they both were prone to putting on a brave face, even when there was nothing left behind the veneer. It wasn't that they weren't close, in fact, most days she would probably consider her father one of her best friends, not that she had many anymore. She could talk to him about anything, but because he was her dad, some things she didn't want to – like this, when she knew how much it was hurting him, and how much more painful it would be to see her devastated.

 _And like Tristan…because telling someone about him might burst the bubble that he'd been building around her._

So, after a few minutes of them reassuring each other that everything was fine and that everything would be fine, they moved onto a different subject – Ellie's international plans. Surprisingly, her father had reacted with excitement, to see her pursuing something that was so important to her.

 _No, not really surprising, she'd just thought he'd be more sad and worried than excited._

"You know, Ellie," he said, thoughtfully, "I have a client, DeLuce Corporation, whose business operates out of Ireland, I'm sure you can imagine why – taxes and all. They have a bunch of difference branches, but one of the service that they offer is business management and consulting. I can put a word in with Chip and see if he's looking for anyone over there."

Ellie's eyes had widened at the suggestion. Her first instinct was to refuse, determined to do all of this on her own, but after thinking about it for a moment, she admitted that doing things _all_ on her own might be jumping off the deep-end a little too soon; she was already determined to uproot her life and move to another country – a little help couldn't hurt.

"Thanks, dad, I would appreciate that," she said with a smile, before continuing more seriously, " _but,_ I don't want you to ask him to hire me. Just see if he has anything available and ask if I can send him over my resume, got it?"

The stern look that she gave him made it clear that she was willing to take _some_ help, but she didn't want the job just handed to her. With his arms up in mock surrender, he agreed, promising to only inquire about any positions. They'd ended the conversation with a laugh, her father insisting that if she moved to Ireland, she'd have to learn to like Guinness. With a smile on her face, but sadness in her eyes, she hugged and kissed her dad goodbye for the day, telling him that she would let him know how what happened on Saturday.

The rest of the week had passed in slow torment – her emotions vacillating from happiness to hopelessness. Tristan had been crazy with work, texting her when he could, telling her that he was thinking about her, that he couldn't wait to see her, and she responded that she felt the exact same. Their mischievous banter, mostly his seductive suggestions, had pushed her to pleasure herself several more times over the past few days; a total count of which she refused to keep track of.

" _It's not the same…without you here,"_ she'd told him on Thursday, lying in bed panting after he'd insisted on hearing her come twice.

He'd originally asked her to come over Thursday night, too impatient to wait until Saturday, but at the last minute, Vanguard had their lawyers include some stipulations in the contract that weren't previously discussed, which sent Tristan into tail spin; the deal was all but agreed upon and now Jim was trying to chance the terms. He'd called her as soon as he got home, still fired up from receiving the news, and needing to vent to her about what had happened…and Ellie had relished it; he'd rarely opened up so fully about what was going on with his business, and why would he? She attributed it to the fact that she knew absolutely nothing about investing, so why would he want to talk to her? Again, he'd proved her opinion of herself wrong.

After relaying the entire scenario, Tristan had asked for her opinion – " _what should he do?"_ Tristan was frustrated with the legal middlemen, frustrated with Jim, and wanted to send a proposal back telling him that the deal was either take it or fuck off. He, again, asked her what to do, at a loss for options in the fog of anger. At first, Ellie had been too stunned to answer, stuttering her canned 'I don't know.'

Tristan was on edge though and would have none of it, sternly telling her " _Ellie, you worked for your father, one of the largest accounting firms in the city, in a business and account management position. If you aren't qualified to give me advice on how to manage this business situation, then I don't know who is_." His impassioned demand had shaken her to her core.

 _Maybe she was qualified._ She'd dealt with and resolved plenty of similar conflicts within her father's firm, not to this magnitude, but disputes where clients would change things at the last minute, add in certain requests to their contracts that may or may not have been legal…all sorts of things.

Taking a deep breath and a moment to think through what he had told her, she suggested a different approach; if Jim wanted to make this happen as much as Tristan did there was no reason to mar the process by changing technicalities so, why didn't Tristan just call him right now and hammer this out one-on-one?

He seemed speechless at her suggestion, pondering the potential outcome. She cautioned him that in spite of his irritation, if he came on too strong or disrespectful of the protocol that Jim clearly wanted to follow, this whole thing could blow up in his face. Maybe these things were added in last minute because he's sad to part with the company that he has grown from the ground up, maybe this has nothing to do with what was added and everything to do with his emotions.

With a confidence that she wasn't sure she completely possessed, she told him to call Jim and calmly figure out what was going on. There was another few seconds of silence before he'd responded, " _Christ, Ellie, what would I do without you?"_ The words sent a bloom of pleasure straight to her stomach, the warmth of appreciation spreading throughout her body. Calling Jim meant that she wouldn't be able to come over though; he'd tried to insist that he could just call Jim in the morning, but Ellie wouldn't agree. She knew how important this acquisition was to Tristan and to the goals he had for his company, she would just see him on Saturday. He'd sighed, telling her how " _incredible"_ she was, and how incredibly hard he was going to work on Saturday to make up for this. His seductive insinuation went straight to her core, so she said goodnight before that train of thought led them down a dangerously distracting path.

Tristan had been on the phone with Jim Bose until almost ten o'clock that night, hammering out their differences in order to make this deal final by the end of the week; it had worked. She knew because she woke up to this text:

 _\- Thank you for listening to me last night, gorgeous, and thank you for your help. I have you to thank for my success this week and let me tell you, the words 'thank you' don't even begin to come close to describing how I feel; you are incredible._

Her joy knowing that she had been helpful to him even in the smallest way gave her such a sense of purpose, one that had been lacking ever since her last doctor's appointment.

 _~ I'm sure you'll figure out the right words eventually, but you're very welcome,_ she'd teased back.

 _\- Oh, I don't need the right words, siren. My actions will speak loud enough to drown out everything else except your screams._

And _that,_ had made her day. Yes, Thursday had been a good day, a hopeful one. Then, Friday had rolled around and well, Friday was only significant in that it was the day before the end…or the beginning.

That decisive moment was almost upon her; the day that she'd been most looking forward to was also the day that she'd been most dreading. Now, getting out of the shower for the second time that day, it was time to face the anxieties that had been eating away at her all week.

Ellie began to slowly apply a hint of makeup to her face, wanting to look even more special for Tristan, but quickly decided against it; she'd found over the years that even "water-proof" mascara and eyeliner were no match for a cancer diagnosis. Opening her closet, she picked out the only dress that she had left, a simple, white fitted sheath, long-sleeves of course, that zipped up the back. She'd bought it a few years ago when her dad's firm had celebrated their twentieth year in business. Shimmying into it, she paired it with the same white pumps she had worn that night too.

Her eyes widened as she took in her appearance in the mirror; the dress fit a lot more snugly now; when she had bought it, it had been right after her first round of chemo, right after she had dropped ten pounds. She hadn't looked well in it before – too skinny to fit properly into anything; the first round of the drugs had been heavy to hit the cancer hard and it had taken a lot out of her. Her dad tried to insist that she stay home, but she would hear none of it knowing how important the night was to him, swearing that 'a night out would be good for her.' She'd also jokingly claimed that she needed to get out one last time before all of her hair was gone; the joke had gone over poorly, but he'd caved to her desire to accompany him. She'd spent most of the party in the bathroom throwing up, but she never had the heart to tell him that. It had been such a great night for him that she'd go again if given the same choice.

Now, the dress hugged all of her curves, highlighting the model shape of her body.

 _How did he manage to do it?_

Weeks ago, she never would have thought of herself that way. Even though her body hadn't changed since then, except maybe for the bags underneath her eyes, she had always looked in the mirror and saw 'poor, sick Elsa Carter.' It didn't matter what she actually looked like, the ghost in her mind always saw her as sick.

 _Until tonight._

When she was with Tristan, he made her realize that she was beautiful. Tonight, his conditioning had paid off that even without him, she was finally able to truly see herself. If it was just for tonight that she felt gorgeous, felt normal, felt alive, it will have been worth it even if tomorrow she has to wake up knowing that it will all disappear.

The confidence from her appearance held up remarkably well all the way to Dr. Sion's office, when her resolve began to crack, fear seeping through. She arrived fifteen minutes early, not because they would expect anything less from always-early-Ellie, but because she wanted to make completely sure she would make it to Tristan's on time.

Her foot began to tap against the carpeted floor at four-fifteen. Her head began to anxiously look back and forth from the check-in desk to the clock at four-thirty. The door opened and she held her breath.

The nurse who came out glanced around, her gaze stopping on Ellie. "Miss Carter?"

Ellie nodded, swallowing hard.

"I'm sorry for the wait. Dr. Sion got stuck in a surgery so she's just going to be a few more minutes, I apologize. You're welcome to come back and wait or you can stay out here until she is ready."

Her anxiety rising, Ellie looked back at the clock before answering, "I'll wait out here, thank you."

 _Being back in the room would only make the potential reality of relapse more stressful._

She waited impatiently for another twenty minutes, torn between wanting to leave and needing to stay. Ellie jumped in her seat feeling her phone buzzed from inside of her purse.

\- _See you soon._

Tristan's text tipped her decision over the edge. She stood and approached the receptionist, "I'm so sorry," she began, "is there any way I can reschedule my appointment with Dr. Sion? I kind of have somewhere I need to be."

"One moment, please," the girl responded, standing up from her desk and walking to the back only to return about a minute later. "I'm sorry, Miss Carter. Dr. Sion really wanted to see you today but she ran into complications with another patient. I just called her and she understand if you have to go but asked if it would be ok for her to call you later to go over your results."

 _Thank God,_ Ellie breathed a sigh of relief.

"Yes, of course," she agreed blindly, focused only on getting out of there as fast as she could.

She tried to tell herself that she wasn't a coward for running away from her diagnosis. She also tried to tell herself that she wasn't being selfish for wanting one more night of what promised to be truly blissful ignorance.

 _She tried._

Her success was up for debate as the cab pulled up outside of Tristan's apartment building, her anticipation rising as she stepped into the elevator. Her need for him vibrating through her as she stood in front of his apartment. Her hand knocked on the door, desperate for what was behind it.

"Good evening, gorgeous," came his deep, silken voice accompanied by the smile that took her breath away.

"Hey," she answered breathless with the relief of finally seeing him.

 _God, he was so incredibly hot, especially when he looked at her like that._ Ellie bit her lip as she walked into the condo, feeling like she could come on the spot if he just asked.

Not even two steps into the room she barely heard the door shut behind her when she was spun around and pushed flush up against it.

" _Fuck, how I've missed you,"_ came his harsh whisper just before his lips took hers.

Her arms immediately came up around his neck as she relaxed into his embrace. Tonight, he was hers; tonight, there would be no sadness, no regret, and no thoughts of cancer. She would live this night to the fullest for _herself_ , for what she wanted, for what she needed, and right now, she needed the magic of his touch to transform her nightmare into fairy tale.


	24. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

Tristan groaned against her mouth, enjoying the vanilla sweetness that he'd been craving all week. He hadn't been able to resist, especially when he saw the way that she was dressed tonight; her dress hugging every part of her body that he ached to touch, a body whose softness was pressed tightly up against the hardness of his, his muscles tensed with their need to have her closer…to have her.

Something was different about tonight though. Maybe she had finally just become that comfortable with him, but her kiss was eager and earnest, and if he were a betting man, he'd say that it was desperate. She returned his kiss immediately and enthusiastically telling him that she needed him just as much as he needed her.

 _The only thing was that he needed her in more ways than this one and her kiss suggested the same._

Whatever the reason, he wasn't going to deny her; if she needed this from him, he wouldn't turn her away. No, he let her take control; opening his mouth to the insistent touch of her tongue, he teased and toyed with it until he felt her moaning into him in return. When she purposefully pressed her hips against his, he knew he had to draw the line or they would never make it to dinner.

His hands came up to cup her face, pulling back from the kiss, their panting breaths mingling in front of them.

"I'll take that as an 'I missed you too, Tristan,'" he said with a grin, enjoying the color that had flooded her cheeks from his embrace.

He watched her bite her lip, and push her hands against his chest, stepping back from him. "You can take it however you want," she said saucily, turning to walk further into the apartment.

He reached out and grabbed her arm, yanking her back up flush against him, his other hand firmly pushing on her back to press her stomach against the solid ridge of his erection. "If that smart mouth of yours keeps it up, I'll take you however I want," he rasped, his eyes dark with the sincere promise of his words; a wicked smile spread over his face as her eyelids widened, revealing her emerald eyes deepening to a hunter-green with desire.

He stared at her a second longer, on the verge of making good on his promise anyway, before he abruptly released her.

"We should get going, I don't want us to be late for dinner; you're going to love this place," he said with grin, always eager to watch her experience new things. However, the new thing that he was just on the verge of experiencing would have to wait until later; there was a celebration to be had.

"You look beautiful, Ellie," Tristan said as they took their seats at Petrossian the French restaurant practically around the corner from his condo.

He'd said those words, or a variation of them, to her probably ten times since she got to his apartment, but it was all his Neanderthal brain could think of. It wasn't just what she was wearing, although the dress that she chose looked like it had been stitched right onto her because it fit like a glove. No, it was _her_ in what she was wearing – from the confidence and demand in her kiss when she walked in the door, to her smart retorts, to the way that she carried herself…something had changed.

Just a few weeks ago when he met her, he could have drawn her a thousand times, he could have stood her in front of a mirror and pointed out every attractive thing about her, _hell,_ he could have told her that she just won Miss Universe and she still would have seen herself as unappealing; she still would have carried the look of uncertainty in her eyes, enslaved by her own self-doubt. Tonight, when he'd opened up his door, the only thing he saw staring back at him was the vibrant sureness and desire of her eyes. It was in everything that she did – the way she kissed him, the way she moved, _she felt beautiful_ and he only hoped that he had played some small part in it.

That was why he felt like a broken record all the way to the restaurant; her confidence in her appearance and her appeal to him was like fucking gas to the already raging flame of his desire for her, pushing his body dangerously close to combustion.

"Is my hair ok?" Ellie asked, breaking through his thoughts.

"It's perfect, why?"

"Because you're staring at me like it's on fire," she half-whispered with a laugh.

"Sorry, you just look so fucking exquisite tonight, Ellie," he bit out just as the waiter came over to take their drink order. "We'll take a glass of your best Chardonnay and two glasses of Cristal, please." The waiter's eyes widening at the expensive choice in champagne.

"So, things went really well then, I take it?" Ellie prompted, watching the brief exchange before her and eager to hear the story.

"Better than well," Tristan began with an appreciative smile, "and all because of you." He reached his hand across the table, needing to touch some part of her. She bit her lip, hesitantly reaching up to take it with hers. "I talked to Jim, like you suggested, and it worked. You were one hundred and ten percent right; he was sad about losing his company to me, even though he wants to retire and has no children to take it over. It was his life's work and I've been so busy with other stuff the past few months that I never took a minute to just sit down and talk with him throughout this whole process; I let my staff and my lawyers handle everything because I thought that would make everything proceed as smoothly as possible, but I forgot about the human element, the one that you so graciously reminded me of."

 _In more ways than one._

Even though Ellie blushed deeply, her gaze never broke from his, taking in his story and his compliments with pride.

"Of course," she replied, a brilliant smile breaking over her face, "I've had to deal with a lot, well, not a lot a lot, but several disputes between either employees or between accountants or managers and the client. People always like to go into business with the presumption that 'business is just business,' but the fact is that business is about people and if something doesn't seem right or rational, it's because there are emotions involved that need to be addressed and not ignored because 'it's not protocol.'"

Tristan stared at her, in awe of the strong, capable woman before him; she'd been doing this, handling these things for years, and yet still managed to hold such a poor opinion of herself up until very recently; the thought floored and infuriated him.

"Have I told you how incredible you are?" he asked, simply; his eyes still locked on her. She bit the exquisite fullness of her lower lip as her mouth attempted to smile at his words.

At that moment, the waiter brought over the wine and champagne, pouring Tristan's first to make sure he approved of their selection. A brief nod signaled to the waiter to continue pouring their glasses, while they sat silently waiting for their privacy to return.

As soon as the waiter left, indicating he would be back soon to take their order, Tristan raised his glass, "To you, my exquisite Ellie; may the world never cease to amaze you like you never cease to amaze me."

She, in turn, raised hers, but before touching it against his contributed, "To you, Tristan, for your success this week in changing one man's life like you have changed mine."

Their glasses clinked together while their eyes remained focused on each other, the deep implications behind their sentiments not lost on either one of them.

 _What was happening between them was not what either had planned._

Of course, Tristan began to order for the two of them, knowing exactly what to pick. Ellie didn't mind, tonight…every night…with Tristan was all about new things.

With a devious gleam in his eyes, Tristan decided to start the night off on the right note by ordering thirty grams of Special Reserve Ossetra caviar. He thoroughly enjoyed watching Ellie's eyes widen when she looked to see that it was a five-hundred-dollar appetizer. To vary the options, he chose the veal and the European Turbot for their mains, thanking the waiter when he was done.

"Have you had the caviar here before?" Ellie squeaked out.

"Of course," he smiled, "just trust me."

"Oh, I do," she replied, enthusiastically, causing a twinge of guilt to burn in his chest, "but, I have to say that I hesitate to believe that any kind of fish eggs are worth that much money."

"They're delicious, Ellie, you'll see. Plus, it's not about them being worth that much money, it's about me being able to watch you try caviar for the first time that is worth that much money to make sure that you enjoy it," he explained, taking a long sip of his wine, drinking in the sight of her.

Her face flushed in response, but she didn't reply, instead following his lead and taking a drink from her glass, too. Tristan watched as her lips closed over the pungent liquid, her eyes fluttering shut as the soft burn of the alcohol warmed her mouth and throat as she swallowed. His jaw clenched, biting back a groan, wishing that he could feel the soft burn of her mouth around his persistent erection right now.

 _Not now, Tristan._

He forced his lustful thoughts down with another sip of the wine, giving Ellie a chance to choose the direction of their conversation.

"So, what happened with Jim? What did he say?" she questioned, her eyes wide with desire to hear just how she'd helped him secure the biggest deal of his professional career.

Tristan began his tale just as the waiter delivered the caviar. "I promise, I'll tell you the rest, you just have to taste this first," he insisted.

Eager to comply, if for no other reason than to hear about the rest of his conversation, Ellie moved to pick up the small spoon on the plate, asking, "so, how do I do this?"

Tristan's hand reached out to grab hers, grasping her fingers tight with his for a split second while he said, "You don't; I'll feed it to you, gorgeous, right now, I need to be the one putting something in your mouth." His voice deep and grating with desire, his gaze conveying exactly every wicked thought that was passing through his mind.

Releasing her hand, he took his time picking up the perfect bite for her to taste, his eyes locking with hers when he was ready, soundlessly asking her to open her mouth. Her stare never leaving his, the sweetness of her lips parting in silent submission ready to try _whatever_ it was that he wanted. Tristan held his breath, gently placing the spoon between her lips, watching as their luscious fullness closed over the utensil to gently pull its contents completely into her mouth.

As always, her reaction was more than he could have expected, watching the subtle movements of her muscles as her mouth took in the intense and complex flavors of the dish. Watching her was like watching a firework show, the handful of tiny bursts combined with the larger expressions made for a mesmerizing display that was constantly changing into something just as beautiful.

 _The caviar? Five-hundred dollars. Her expression while she tasted it? Priceless._

"That was…" Ellie began, pausing to think how to describe it, "very interesting."

"Interesting good or interesting bad?" he countered, wondering if he had been mistaken about how much she would love it.

"Interesting good, don't worry," she clarified with a smile, "I just don't know how to describe it, it's like nothing I've ever tasted before and that, might just be what I enjoy most about it." The unabashed honesty of her comment surprised him. She'd been relatively quiet about her past after that one night – then again, so had he. She was looking to forget her past and her past self, but this time what she said carried no hint of sadness, only a sort of satisfied resignation. He bit his tongue as it attempted to revolt with curiosity

 _Now was not the time or place to have a discussion about her past._

She was so fucking beautiful and happy like he'd never seen her before, he wouldn't be the one to shatter that with the weights of her past. Not to mention, he wasn't sure he could handle hearing more about her abuse; the seething rage that had seared through him had taken days for him to work off.

"Can you give me another bite?" her expectant gaze breaking through his thoughts.

A confident smile spread over his face as he met her eager expression, enjoying the fact that she _asked_ him to feed her more caviar even more than point that she had enjoyed it enough to want more. He gave her another generous spoonful of the delicacy before finally giving himself a taste.

After that brief intermission, he continued on with the story of his call with Jim. He hadn't known that it was Jim's father who had given him the money to start the business; he hadn't known that Jim had a son who was going to take over the company, but had died in Iraq first. Vanguard was a major supporter of the Wounded Warriors charity because of Jim's loss, and as he went to sign the papers to legally hand everything over to Tristan, all of the implications of what he was about to do had sunk it. Jim was, of course, a realist; he knew it was going to happen eventually, but by calling, Tristan learned that it was an emotional upheaval against the logical conclusion.

"Oh wow," Ellie said, sympathy written all over her face, her hand coming up to brush away a tear at the mention of what happened to Jim's son.

"So," he continued, "I listened to him, like you suggested; I listened instead of lashing out and what I learned was that all he wanted was to feel like I wasn't going to take his company and then proceed to take away everything that it stood for."

The food took that moment to arrive, another brief intermission as he divvied up the entrées so that they could both have some of each.

"What did you do?" Ellie asked, just as she put her first bite of the veal into her mouth.

"So, I told him that I would make sure the entire company knew Vanguard's roots," Tristan explained, taking a bite of the Turbot, "and then I promised him that Black Box would not only continue to make the same amount of donations to the Wounded Warriors, but that I would double his one-hundred-thousand-dollar donation in the name of his son." Here his story stopped, watching and waiting for her response.

"That is incredible, Tristan," she said, her voice thick with emotion.

 _God, she was fucking incredible._

She'd freaked out over five-hundred-dollar caviar, but the mention of the two hundred thousand going to charity she didn't even bat an eye at. The only thing affecting her was the fact that he had promised to keep Jim's donation in honor of his son. He'd known the money wouldn't impress her, but he loved to see it; he loved to see that someone could care so little about how much money he had, only how much good it could do for others.

"It's all because of you," he replied, "now, I'm done talking for the night. I want to know how your week went. Have you looked more into what you want to do? Where you want to go?"

This time when he asked, his gut didn't clench at the thought of her leaving. He didn't want to admit it, but the thought didn't bother him because he knew he would never leave, or at least never let her leave without him.

"Pretty good," she said with a smile, "I actually talked to my dad about my plans earlier in the week for the first time; I was surprised how excited he seemed for me. Honestly, I had expected a guilt trip for the thought of leaving him 'all alone' or even him wanting to go with me." When she laughed, rolling her eyes at the memory, it was then that his gut did clench at the reminder of Jack Carter, and everything that he had done.

 _And the fact that it must be nice to have a father who is so concerned about you._

He rather preferred to forget about that part.

"Anyway," she continued, shaking her head on the digression, "I told him and not only did he really want me to go, but he offered to talk to one of his clients that runs some of his business from Ireland."

"What business? What would you be doing?" Tristan asked intently, watching as the waiter came back over to take their plates.

"Would you care to see the dessert menu?" the man asked, his question directed first to Ellie.

"No, I'm fine, thank you," she replied, politely, "unless you want to see the options, Tristan, I'll share something with you if you want to eat dessert." She quickly rambled at the end, not wanting to make the decision for the both of them.

His gaze deepened on her, completely ignoring the waiter patiently awaiting his answer. "I'm already looking at the only option that I want." Her face turned bright red, eyes darting to the waiter hoping that he hadn't heard Tristan, but knowing that if she had heard him, there was no way the waiter hadn't.

"No, we are all set, thank you so much," Ellie stuttered out, trying to find a way out of her embarrassment as quickly as possible. "I can't believe you just said that," she exclaimed as soon as the waiter walked away to get their check.

"Believe it because it's the truth, sweetheart; I've been waiting to eat you all week."

If possible, her face got even redder, except this time it wasn't embarrassment that shown in her eyes, it was excitement. Her gaze turned an electric emerald with desire, shining starkly as he watched the heat of sexual need spread through her.

The waiter came back with the check and Tristan immediately gave his card, not looking at him or the bill. They left the restaurant in silence, words unable to communicate what was needed between them; their only contact was physical – Tristan's hand planted firmly on the small of her back as they walked briskly back to his apartment, both anxiously aroused in anticipation for what was to come.

Stepping into the elevator, the doors closed giving them their first moment of complete privacy – one that he wasn't going to waste.

Tristan spun her around, her back pressed flat against the back wall as his mouth came down hard on hers. Her response was immediate and effusive, giving all of her, but taking everything of him in return. The too-brief moment of the elevator ride ended with a halting 'ding'. Tristan pulled back from her, panting with need. He grabbed her hand and led her off of the elevator, unlocking the door to his apartment. Just inside the threshold, he stopped, turning to face her with lust blazing in his eyes.

"Are you sure you want to come in?" Tristan ground out, needing to give her one last chance to escape him, knowing that what they were about to do would make what he had done even more painful to her in the future.

Her eyes glowed bright with desire as her mouth moved in a breathless whisper, "I'm sure that I want you."


	25. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

Her eyes begged him to take her, to continue what he had started and promised. Her words a drifted over him – a plea with the slightest hint of desperation in them too faint for him to notice in the state that he was in. All he heard was that she needed him just as badly as he needed her.

 _Thank fuck._

Tristan pulled her to him, his mouth reclaiming its position over hers. Her sweet lips parting readily, beckoning his tongue to enter. He tasted her, drank from her, explored every crevice of her honeyed mouth until she was moaning beneath him.

He'd wanted to take this slow; he'd wanted to bring her back here and show her that he'd started her final portrait for the competition. He'd chosen to reproduce the moment she realized he had brought her to 'Hamilton'; her expression of sheer joy was one that he hadn't been able to shake from his head. Everything was all set up, too, in the living room just a few feet from where they were standing, unfortunately, that thought was now miles away from the front of his mind. All those thoughts had gone out the window the second he had opened his door to her tonight. Her dress, her confidence, and mostly her desire for him exuding out of her all through dinner put every thought out of his mind except one – _he had to have her._

Tristan groaned at the feel of her soft flesh moving against him, pushing into his body as she silently asked him for more; his lower half ready to answer her and take her here, up against his front door. If they didn't move soon, the chance of that happening was becoming greater by the minute.

Bending down, Tristan reached under her legs and hoisted her into the air, enjoying the small gasp that broke her lips from his before he reclaimed them. For the second time in just as many weeks, he carried Ellie into his bedroom, except this time when he laid her on his bed, his body took the place of the blanket covering her with his hardness. Ellie moaned into him, both with desire and frustration, her legs attempting to part so that he could settle more fully between them, but the tightness of her dress getting in the way. Her hand moved frantically from behind his shoulders to the front of his chest, her small fingers making quick work of the buttons that she could reach. Even though she hadn't undone them all, he felt her begin to tug his shirt from his shoulders, the fabric pulling tight against him as there wasn't enough slack to completely clear his muscular frame. Yet, she kept tugging.

Tristan groaned, pulling his mouth from hers as he let out a soft chuckle, "Hold on, siren, let me help you." Pushing himself up and off of her, he ripped off the rest of the buttons, roughly tugging his shirt out of his pants and pulling over his head.

She was looking at him like she wanted to devour every piece of skin that he was exposing. Her eyes were a luminescent green, their passionate glow pulling him back to her, demanding to be fulfilled. With one knee on the bed, looking down at her, he unzipped his distended pants, letting them hang loosely at his hips, not trusting himself to take them off right now. At least undone they provided some relief to his thick erection.

"You are the one who should be a model," she whispered to him, the awe in her voice unmistakable as her hand reached up to touch him or to pull him down to her, he wasn't sure. All he knew is that the angel in his bed right now had on far too many clothes.

Taking her hand, he pulled her up to sitting, watching her eyes widen in question.

"Kneel and turn around," he instructed, his hand keeping a firm grasp on hers to steady her as she moved over the soft mattress. When she was facing away from him, her ankles hanging off the edge of the bed, he gently ran his fingers down the full length of the zipper, pausing where it ended, right on the height of her perfectly round ass.

Bringing his hand back up to the tab of the zipper he slowly lowered it the entire way. His entire body burned with lust, demanding that he move faster, but something more, something stronger had him moving in slow motion, as if he was trying to capture every line, every curve of her in perfect detail with his touch. The material parted slightly, offering him a glimpse at the creamy skin that lie beneath.

He placed his hands underneath the top edges of her dress, his palms resting on her shoulder blades. "Tristan," he heard her whisper as her whole body shivered underneath his touch, goosebumps coating the soft skin underneath his fingers.

"Patience," he said, unsure if it was more of a command for her or himself. His hands began to move, pushing the thicker, white material of her dress off of her shoulders and down her arms. Needing no encouragement, Ellie finished pulling her forearms out of the sleeves, leaving her bare, except for her bra from the waist up.

Tristan groaned, toying with the clasp of her white lace bra for a moment before he unhooked it, leaving no time for any second thoughts got the best of him. He peeled the straps off of her shoulders, the only thing holding it on now was her arms pressed against her body, where they remained for an instant longer before her head tipped back and she shrugged the undergarment free from her chest, tossing it onto the floor.

Moving on to the next barrier in front of him, he grabbed the folded-down part of her dress, slowing unwrapping it from her ass.

 _Fuck, if only all presents were this enticing._

His mouth watered as the sweet curves, barely concealed beneath her matching white-lace cheekies, were revealed to him. Her dress now pooled around her knees, his hands immediately went to the curves in front of him, gently squeezing the globes in his hands, running a finger tortuously underneath the lower edge of her panties, letting it follow the seam up and over the soft flesh, continuing down underneath between her legs. Even though to him, his finger was still miles away from those sweet folds of hers, the evidence of her arousal was completely soaking through her underwear, starting to spread up the back of them.

" _Tristan, please,"_ she moaned, her back flexing to try and force his fingers to the source of her desire. He clenched his teeth as a jolt of lust shocked through him. Firmly clasping her hips, he pulled her upper body back against him, one hand snaking around the grab the freed mound of her breast.

His thumb teasing the hardness of her nipple caused her head to tilt back, resting on his shoulder and allowing him to whisper in her ear, "Step back off the bed." She moaned in protest until his fingers stopped their magic, at which point she slowly complied, working one leg and then the other off the bed to stand.

As both her legs straightened, her dress fell completely to the floor, leaving her clad in nothing but her lacey panties.

 _And not for long._

His other hand reached up to tilt her chin over towards him so that he could taste her sweet vanilla mouth again. As his tongue plunged inside its warm depths, he spun her body around, pressing the soft, nude length of her against him. His erection protested against its confines and the blatant torture it was being subjected to, but that was the last of Tristan's concerns right now.

 _Right now, he wanted to taste another part of her._

He gently bit and sucked on her lower lip, feeling the soft exhale of her moan more than hearing it. " _Sit, Ellie,_ " he commanded roughly, letting his mouth take hers again as his hands guided her hips down to the edge of the bed.

When she sat on the edge of the bed, Tristan stepped between her thighs keeping his mouth in tight contact with hers, his hands sliding up her hips to grasp the fullness of her breasts, the soft mounds completely filling his grasp. When she gasped, Tristan took the opportunity to trail his mouth along the edge of her jawline, his kisses blazing a trail down the soft skin of her neck. He dropped one knee and then the other, putting his gaze directly in line with her breasts.

For a few moments, he just stared at his hands as they massaged and teased the firm peaks, watching as her tender nipples deepened from pink to red, begging to be tasted.

 _Just like she wanted him to._

Her fingers had found their way into his hair, clasping the sides of his head, applying a gentle unconscious pressure trying to pull his mouth towards her. He darted his eyes, completely black with lust, up to hers, giving her a wicked grin before he stuck his tongue out and licked one of the begging buds. His eyes never left hers, watching her mouth drop with a gasp as a jolt of pleasure rocketed through her.

Then, his own lust took control, too close to temptation to stop himself, Tristan closed his mouth over the erect peak, pulling it deeply into his mouth. Ellie moaned with delight, her hands tightening in his hair pushing him harder against her. In return, Tristan sucked firmly before letting his tongue swirl and tease the sensitive skin. He toyed with her until she was writhing beneath his hands, her fingers running frantically through his hair as her need continued to build.

Taking one last gentle nip of the sensitive bud, Tristan pulled his head back, his hands coming to grip in the soft skin of her stomach. He tilted his head up to look at her, her face flushed, eyelids half shut, weighed down with lust.

"Lay back," he instructed her firmly. "I've been dying to taste you all night." Her eyes flashed at the hint of what was to come. After a moment, her hands gently untangled from his hair, reaching back to support herself as she gently lowered herself down to lie flat on the mattress. From here, Tristan took in the view before him – the rosy peaks of her nipples jutting up proud from her breasts, the flat plane of her stomach leading down to the white lace underwear concealing his next course.

His hands moved down onto her hips, running lightly over the texture of her underwear that covered the softness of the skin beneath. Taking one finger, he trailed it along the edge of her panties, over the top of her thigh and down towards her center.

 _Fuck, she was so wet._

Tristan groaned feeling her juices coat the tip of his finger as it passed next to her entrance. Her hips jerked in response, pleading for more.

 _And he wouldn't disappoint._

Rocking back onto his toes, he took the top edge of her panties and pulled them down over her legs, baring every last inch of her to his gaze. Returning to his position, front row and center with a perfect view of the dewy pink folds directly in front of him, he couldn't stop his fingers from delving right in.

Ellie gasped loudly as his fingers explored her, searching for the sensitive nub beneath, her hips rocketing off the bed when his thumb brushed over her clit, shooting pleasure throughout her body.

" _Tristan…I need…_ " she gasped, her hands fisting in the comforter.

" _What do you want to feel?"_ he asked her again, his eyes never leaving the glistening treasure before him.

" _You…please, you,"_ she groaned out as his fingers continued to tease her clit. Tristan knew she was so close to orgasm, but he wanted his mouth to be on her when that happened.

" _Oh, you will, but first, I'm going to eat you for dessert,"_ he rasped, taking one last, long look at the gorgeous and painfully arousing sight in front of him before his hands spread her folds, his head bending towards the most intoxicating thing he'd ever tasted.

The first lick of his tongue over her core had her moaning frantically. Her head began to thrash wildly on the bed as he lapped her juices over and over. Her hands found their way to his head again, pulling him tighter against her, needing more. In response, his tongue dove inside of her to feel the quaking of her inner muscles, her whole body on the edge of release.

 _He could stay here all night, enjoying the taste and feel of her beneath his mouth, but he had other plans. Well, the lower half of him, the half that had been left unsatisfied for weeks now, had other plans._

His tongue began to move more rapidly, in sync with her moans as they grew louder and closer together, signaling her impending orgasm. She moaned his name over and over, every muscle in her body taut. He swirled his tongue over her clit on last time and she exploded beneath him. Her hips jerking up against his mouth, the warm rush of her orgasm coating his tongue.

He drank it all in, letting her come down slowly before he finally removed his mouth from her, placing open-mouthed kissed along the inside of her thigh before standing up. The change in position caused him to groan as his partially-undone pants pushed painfully against his erection. All thoughts of discomfort subsided though as he looked down at Ellie lying in his bed, her bright red hair flowing over the start white of the comforter, her pale skin flushed pink, her nipples distended, and her core still glistening from her release.

 _"Fuck, you are so exquisite, Ellie,"_ he groaned, paralyzed with his need for her. His words stirred her from her daze, her eyes opening to look at him. Instead of the satiated sedateness that he had expected to see, the only thing he saw reflecting in her vibrant green eyes was hunger for him. Her gaze running up and down the length of his body. He watched as she pushed herself up, first to sitting on the edge of the bed, and then right off so that she was now kneeling in front of him.

 _What the fuck._

His eyes widened in shock as her hands grasped the waistband of his pants and boxers, tugging them carefully down over his hips and swollen erection. He couldn't move, so surprised by her actions and dying to see what she would do next.

" _Ellie, what are you doing?"_ he ground out, hissing as her hand came back to grasp the length of his distended penis, pleasure searing through his entire body.

"I'm not sure," she said with a breathless and nervous laugh, looking up at him from underneath her eyelashes, "but, you keep telling me I have a smart mouth, so I'm sure I'll figure it out." Before her words sunk in, Tristan felt her hot, wet mouth close over the tip of his erection and he saw stars.

His hands sank into her hair as he struggled to remain upright, the feeling of her mouth sucking on him was beyond all comprehension.

 _He was not going to last long like this._

Prying his eyes open, he enjoyed one look at his hard flesh disappearing into the soft depths of her mouth, before he jerked his hips back, freeing himself from her and the dangerous pleasure that she was giving him. Her gaze shot to his, filled with concern and question.

"Did I hurt you?"

" _Fuck,_ no, Ellie. _Christ,_ you are so unpredictable," Tristan panted, trying to bring himself back down from the edge. "As exquisitely smart as that mouth of yours is, I need to fuck you properly tonight."

"Oh, do you?" she whispered seductively, her expression telling him that she relished in his uncontrollable crudeness. Tristan watched as she stood to meet his gaze, gone was the shy, self-critical woman he'd met a few weeks ago. Before him confidently stood a woman who knew not only how gorgeous she was, but more importantly, how desirable she was to him.

 _Now, all that left was to show her just how much he craved her._

Taking her face in his hands, his mouth descended on hers again. Stepping out of his pants, he walked them back up against the edge of the best, his tongue never leaving her mouth. Reaching to grab her beautifully soft ass, he lifted her up, her legs instinctively encircling his waist, allowing her wet folds to brush against his erection. Groaning, he laid them both down onto the bed, because it had been his plan, and also because the touch of her hot core against him had made him lose all strength in his legs. Settling in between her thighs, he took her mouth like he planned on taking her body. His hand moving up to fondle the swollen mound of her breast again.

Ellie moaned as the pleasure began to build inside of her again, but she wasn't desperate.

 _He needed her desperate, just like he was._

His mouth moved to her breast again, torturing the flesh that he had bypassed the first time. Sucking on her until her nipple was bright red and engorged. Pulling back, he gently blew over the peak, hearing her gasp and watching the goosebumps spread like wildfire over her body. Her arm twitched at her side, something that wouldn't have normally caught his attention, but as he glanced over, his eyes stopped dead in their tracks at the white marks covering her arm from the crease of her elbow down to her wrist.

His entire body froze, seeing what she had been so desperate to hide – scars tattooing the length of her forearm. His jaw clenched as rage detonated throughout his body, every muscle tensing as the thoughts and questions began to explode in his mind.

"Please," she whispered, her hand coming to his face, forcing his gaze to hers "not now, Tristan; _I need you now."_

He couldn't refuse her even if he wanted to. " _I'll never hurt you, Ellie."_ The promise coming flowing from his mouth before he even realized what he had said. His mouth claimed hers to seal in his words and the depth of their meaning.

His hand migrating south from the soft fullness of her breast to her folds, finding them just as drenched as before. He groaned against her as his thumb and forefinger began to massage the nub of nerves between them, quickly drawing her to the brink of release. He felt her hold her breath, her muscles flexed beneath him and he knew she was as ready to explode as he was. His hand returned to her face, angling it back to look into her eyes, needing to see her face as he took her.

Raising his hips, his jaw clenched as the head of his erection pressed against the entrance to her core. He pushed forward with painful slowness, his erection burning with the need for speed and release. He watched her face as the pressure from the invasion of just his head began to intensify as the rest of his engorged cock pushed completely inside of her. Her mouth parted, gasping in air at the exquisite pleasure of the fullness of having him inside of her. The green in her eyes electric again as he seated himself to the hilt inside of her tight passage. Fully encased within her, Tristan lost control, the heat and tightness of her core flexing around him was too much. His head dropped to the side of hers; he'd focused on her face, on her reaction for as long as he could, but now he couldn't deny himself any longer; he'd pushed himself beyond the breaking point.

" _So, fuck me properly, Tristan,"_ she whispered into his ear.

 _FUCK._

His hips pulled back and slammed into her, his mind completely blank except for his need for release. He thrust hard into her, thanking God when her hips raised to meet his, her moans becoming louder and more frantic, telling him that she was about to come with him.

" _Yes, Tristan, please,"_ she panted, " _please…"_

Her pleas swelled him even more inside of her. His vision going white as the crest of his orgasm was upon him.

" _Christ, Ellie, yes!"_ he yelled, ramming into her one last time, pushing them both over the edge. She screamed as he continued to pump into her, letting the contractions of her passage pull the fluid from his erection. His hips kept pumping into her, no longer under his control. His orgasm lasted for minutes, having been built up and stifled for so long. The pleasure of finally coming inside of her even more Earth-shattering than he'd been imagining it.

 _He wasn't surprised; everything with Ellie was always just…more._

They lay like that, their breathing syncing in satiety, their heartbeats slowly coming back down from thundering speeds; their gasps for air finally satisfied the need for oxygen in their blood, oxygen that had been completely replaced with desire over the last hour.

"Tell me I'm crushing you," Tristan groaned.

"Why?" Ellie chuckled breathlessly underneath him. "You're not."

"So that I'm forced to roll off of you, otherwise I'll happily stay here forever, slowing suffocating you," he said, enjoying the feel of her softness beneath and around him; his cock still hard and aroused inside of her, wanting to go again.

"Believe me, that's one death that I would be happy to take," she replied, the faintest hint of sadness in her voice, quickly continuing before his foggy brain grasped her unthinking allusion to a deeper meaning, "but, I guess you should probably move soon; I think I'm starting to feel lightheaded."

"I will gladly take credit for that," Tristan began, "although I think the lightheadedness is from what I just finished doing to you." With a wicked grin, he planted one last kiss on her mouth, pushing himself up off of her chest. Taking a deep breath, one last second to enjoy her warmth, he pulled out of her and stood up at the edge of the bed, confidently naked – and still clearly aroused – in front of the wall of open windows.

"Don't worry, no one can see you," he said, reading her mind. "Don't move." He walked into the bathroom, returning two minutes later with a warm washcloth. She'd done as he asked, her eyes drifted shut as she relaxed into the bed. Tristan paused, just staring at her for a minute trying to absorb the breathtaking view in front of him.

He'd loved to watch her come, and he loved to watch her after, as the release of pleasure caused a complete peacefulness to settle over her, but this time, the possessiveness that mingled with his pleasure of watching her shot lust straight to his groin. Seeing her lay there, legs still parted, as though they were begging him to come back inside where he belonged, was too much. His erection swelled, even larger than before, if that was possible. Clenching his teeth, he knew he needed her at least one more time tonight.

Kneeling next to the beg, he whispered softly in her ear, "Ellie, I'm going to clean you, and then I'm going to take you again." She sighed at his words, her eyes only partially opening to reveal their deep green irises.

" _Please,_ " she barely whispered, holding his gaze for a split second before her eyes closed again as he gently placed the washcloth against her. Ellie moaned as Tristan tenderly moved the soft material to clean and stimulate her sensitive center.

When he saw her nipples hardening again and her desire beginning to build, he dropped the washcloth on the floor and carefully climbed onto the bed between her legs. His hands reached underneath her to grab her ass, gently lifting her hips to place her right where he could feast on her again. Ever so carefully, he set his tongue on her, savoring her flavor and the small moans that she was making. He didn't toy with her this time, his tongue swirled and teased her sensitive clit right up to the edge of her orgasm, smoothly inserting two fingers into her passage to send her over the precipice. Gently lapping the tender nub until the convulsions of her hips subsided, he finally pulled his mouth from her, climbing up and over the length of her body; his erection poised at her core.

" _You're so fucking beautiful when you come, Ellie,"_ he whispered in her ear. " _Can you come for me again, siren? Just once more, I promise. I need to feel you milk my cock one more time."_ His words stirred her eyes open, the hint of fluorescent green sparking back into them.

" _Only once more?"_ she teased even as her exhaustion was apparent in her voice.

" _Siren,_ " he groaned as he flexed his hips, the head of his erection pushing easily through her slick folds into her molten center. He didn't stop until he was seated completely inside of her, only then pausing to savor the feel of her clenched around him.

Steadily, he began to move, building his arousal and hers with each thrust. " _You feel so incredible around me,"_ he whispered to her, his thrusts picking up speed. She moaned, wrapping her legs around his waist in response. " _God, you are so hot and tight, I…can't…"_ he trailed off as the sensations became too overwhelming, the only thing he could focus on was driving into her harder and faster. Her hips rose to meet his, her body electrified and ready for one more combustion.

" _What are you doing to me?"_ he questioned, plunging into her one last time.

 _That was all it took for the world to fall away as they came together._


	26. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

Ellie woke the next morning to the gentle light of the sunrise spreading over her face and the soreness of being 'well-fucked'. This time, when she woke, she didn't wonder where she was or why she had no clothes on. Instead, she snuggled deeper into the covers of Tristan's comfortable bed, savoring the feeling of his hot, hard body pressed up against the back of hers.

"Good morning, siren," his voice rasped from behind her. "How did you sleep?"

"Like I've never slept before," she replied, biting her lip at the truth of her words. "How about you? I didn't steal the covers off of you, did I?"

"You might have, but I enjoyed coming to reclaim them," he teased. "No, you really didn't, I just took advantage of your gorgeous, naked body in my bed because I couldn't help myself." As he spoke the words, Ellie felt the arm resting over her side move, his hand sliding up to cup the weight of her breast as he gently flexed his hips into her ass, letting her feel the hardness of his morning erection.

"Mmm," she moaned, "I like when you can't help yourself." Emphasizing her words, and the thoughts behind them by suggestively flexing back into his erection, taunting its fiery firmness.

" _Christ, Ellie,"_ he groaned, pushing harder against her. "You're a fucking siren, you know that?" He asked as his fingers tweaked her nipple, causing her to gasp loudly as pleasure speared through her. "You're irresistible _and_ unpredictable; it's proving to be a deadly combination for me." His words continued softly as his hand moved down to her sore and swollen folds that were wet and waiting for him.

Ellie heard him groan loudly as his fingers delved between them, feeling the slickness between her thighs. She bit her lip trying to cage her moan from escaping as his fingers found her clit, toying with the soft bud. Her eyes closed as she succumbed to the warm electricity that he sparked throughout her body.

She succumbed to the dissociative draw of desire, pulling her away from everything about her external reality, focusing every cell in her body on this moment with Tristan and everything that he made her feel.

Her body took on a mind of its own, arching against him and his expert fingers, the pressure building inside her once again, begging for a splintering release. "Tristan," she moaned as his fingers left her, her body vibrating with need. She felt him raise her leg back and over his, opening a space between her thighs for him to fit in. Second later she felt the blunt head of his erection pressing firmly into her, immediately sliding all the way inside.

 _"Holy fuck."_ She heard him swear from behind her before his hips began to flex, moving in and out of her. The friction of his cock inside of her continued where his fingers had left off, raising her higher and higher. His thrusts became more frantic, his hand coming to splay across the soft skin of her stomach, holding her in place while he plunged forcefully inside of her.

Her breath was stuck inside of her, she was so close to release, every fiber of her being was taut and focused on one goal: internal combustion. "Come with me, gorgeous," she barely heard him rasp as his fingers probed her folds, swirling her clit, causing her to explode as he pushed inside her one last time with a yell.

Her hips jerked involuntarily with the force of her orgasm, her muscles clenching around him as she felt the warm of his release inside of her.

He held her as his hips slowly rode out the waves of their orgasms. The need to breath finally returned, her lungs sucking in air that they hadn't required a minute ago. She felt him lightly kiss her shoulder, the gentle touch magnifying the goosebumps coating her skin.

" _Exquisite,"_ he whispered against her skin and she smiled – a more perfect moment she could never have dreamed. Then her stomach grumbled, bringing them both back down to the reality of the morning. "I see that I've worked you to the point of starvation," he joked.

"Again, a manner of death that I would willing take," she said with a sigh, "but, I could also take a chocolate chip muffin if you've got any of those lying around." They both laughed together, his turning into a small groan as her laugh contracted her passage around him.

"Well, I'd like to keep you around, so as much as I want to just lay here and make you come all day, I guess I'll go make us some food," he grunted, sliding his semi-hard erection out of her, the loss of him making her sigh. "I'm not feeding you just a muffin though this morning; this morning you deserve a full breakfast-buffet." He winked at her as he stood up off the bed, grinning wickedly at her when he caught her staring at his impressive lower half.

Her stomach grumbled again. "Yes, food…definitely food," she agreed, turning away from him so that he wouldn't see the blush spreading over her face.

"You're welcome to shower or whatever while I make food," he offered, as she heard him shuffling around getting dressed.

She sat up on the edge of the bed, pulling the sheet to cover herself. He chuckled at her pointless gesture as he walked out of the room toward the kitchen.

 _Shower. Yes, definitely._

Ellie stood and quickly darted into the bathroom, not quite sure she believed that no one could see in through the windows now that the day had dawned. She turned the shower on hot, a brief moment of déja vu coming over her as she remembered the last time she stood there waiting for the water to warm, what she had seen, and smiled to herself; this time, finally, she'd been the recipient of his release, and not the cold shower wall _._

 _She was irresistible, she was responsible for his pleasure – and it was the most gratifying feeling in the world._

As much as she wanted to stay and enjoy the steaming water coursing over her body, she wanted to enjoy Tristan's company more. Quickly washing herself, she stepped out of the shower, toweling herself dry. There was no hair dryer in sight, so she did the best she could with the towel, attempting a chic 'freshly-washed' look that was only marginally successful. Wrapping herself in the towel, she walked back into the bedroom to pick up her underwear and dress that were piled on the floor, her bra nowhere in sight. She took her clothes back into the bathroom to change, going braless for the time being.

 _Probably not the worst idea; her breasts were still swollen and sore._

Other than the fact that her nipples were clearly visible through the fabric of the dress, she deemed herself presentable, following the pungent smell of coffee out into the kitchen, where Tristan was just finishing arranging a plate of food for her.

"Good morning, siren," he drawled, a lazy and appreciative smiling spreading over his face as he took her in; his eyes darkened when they noticed her nipples hardened through the dress. "I take it you couldn't find your bra." He laughed as she shrugged her shoulders in response. "Don't worry, I'm not complaining. In fact, I might have hidden it on purpose."

"Did you really?" she asked. It was completely believable to her that he had.

He winked at her in response before pushing the plate on the island counter towards her. "Eat," he instructed.

She took a seat at one of the counter stools, assessing what was on the plate. Scrambled eggs with vegetables mixed in, toast, and some fresh melon on the side.

"Thank you," she said, taking a giant bite of the eggs, her eyes closing as their delicious flavor overwhelmed her mouth. "This is delicious, Tristan. I didn't know you could cook so well."

"Only certain things," he laughed, taking another bite off of his plate. "Plus, I prefer to eat, not cook." His eyes darted to hers for a split second, making sure that she knew there was a double meaning to the words he was saying.

Ellie was grateful her mouth was full of another bite of eggs when he said those words so that she didn't have to respond; her blush was response enough it seemed.

"So, what are you plans for the rest of the day?" Tristan asked, trying to appear nonchalant.

"I'm not…I don't know," she stuttered in response, forgetting that this wasn't reality; that even though last night had been magical, reality had risen with the dawn this morning and she would have to face it at some point today. "I have a couple of personal things to take care of, and then usually my dad and I do dinner on Sunday nights, but I haven't heard from him so I'm not sure yet. Well, actually, I don't know if I've heard from him; I'm not entirely sure where my phone is at the moment." Her nervous laugh stopped her rambling.

She didn't want Tristan to feel obligated to spend the day with her since they'd just slept together. What she said was entirely true, but she may have overplayed the importance of dinner with her dad.

 _She didn't want him to think she was as needy as she wanted to be._

Ellie watched a shadow cross his face at the mention of her dad before he replied, "I guess at some point I'll have to share you with the world." At his words, a giant smile bloomed over her face, hearing that he wasn't trying to get rid of her. "Just because I will, doesn't mean that I have to like it though," he clarified, causing her smile to brighten even further.

She didn't know what to say, so she took the last bite of her breakfast, standing to take her plate over to the sink. He stopped her though, reaching out his hand to take the dish from her.

"Thank you."

While he rinsed their dishes in the sink before placing them in the dishwasher, Ellie found herself drawn to the windows of the apartment again. She stared at the breathtaking view of the growing sunlight painting the tops of the Manhattan skyscrapers. Suddenly, she felt Tristan behind her, his hand snaking around her stomach to pull her back against him. She looked over her shoulder and he captured her lips, tenderly kissing her as the sun gradually set them alight.

"I'm going to go shower and change," he whispered as she slowly opened her eyes to be ensnared by his. "Don't go anywhere." She nodded slightly in acquiescence as he moved away from her heading back into his bedroom and the bathroom beyond.

She stood for another moment, looking out the glass, before she thought she heard a soft buzzing.

 _Crap!_

She needed to check her phone. Dr. Sion was supposed to have called her or be calling her and she was sure her dad was freaking out after not hearing from her, knowing that she had an appointment last night. She'd forgotten to text him and let him know that she hadn't been able to see the doctor.

 _Double crap. Where was her purse?!_

Her bare feet frantically padded around the dining room table, trying to remember where she dropped it last night when they had come in; the memory a complete blur except for what had happened between her and Tristan.

 _Knock. Knock. Knock._

Ellie stopped in her tracks at the ominous pounding on the door.

 _What should she do?_

She could clearly hear the shower running in the bathroom which meant that there was no way Tristan had heard the door or that he was coming to answer it.

 _Stop being ridiculous and answer the door._

Swallowing the nervous lump in her throat, she cautiously made her way to the front door, grabbing her purse from the entryway table and throwing on her shoes as she passed by, preparing to look respectable for whomever was at the door.

She closed one eye to look through the peephole. Her head jerked back at the sight of the human on the other side. She couldn't keep him waiting out there any longer though. Unlocking the deadbolt, she opened the door hesitantly, partially shielding herself with its wooden mass as she peered around the edge at the darkly handsome, yet dangerously striking features of the man on the other side.

"Hello, Ellie," the words slipped out of his mouth like molasses as a syrupy, perilous smile crept over his face.

"Hello," she paused, her eyes narrowing. "Do I know you? Have we met before?" He didn't look familiar, and even though he knew her name, she didn't like how he was looking at her. His black eyes oozed down her, taking in every inch of her that was revealed,

"Oh, not exactly," the man replied, placing his hand on the door to push it open further to allow him to enter the apartment. Pausing in front of her face, he continued, "I'm Pierce and I'm sure you've heard about me."

Her eyes widened, at both the recognition of his name and lack of personal space that he gave her. His closeness gave her a clear view of the giant scar running down the side of his face and disappearing into his shirt; she grimaced at the thought of what or who could have done that. His proximity also let her see the faint hint of purple-green spots around his one eye – the remnants of where Tristan had punched him. She took a step back, trying to put some semblance of distance between them.

 _He was the one Tristan was afraid of, the one I'm never supposed to meet._

Ellie watched as Pierce's smile grew at her retreat, relishing in her uncomfortableness for a few seconds before he continued into the apartment like he owned the place. Tristan was right about everything he had told her about this man, everything except one small detail; he was dangerous, but he was dangerous because he was hurting.

 _She knew; she'd been there._

"So, where is my dear _friend,_ Tristan?" Pierce asked, turning to stare her down with his pitch-black eyes. Just as she was about to answer, he held up his finger, "In the shower, it seems." Now that the door had closed, he could see her entire body, that was thankfully decently clothed. "I'm sure he must have needed it," he continued, raising an eyebrow and smirking at her.

It took Ellie just a half-second too long to realize that he too could see her nipples through her dress. Quickly raising her arms to cross them over her chest, she raised her chin in defiance, "Yes, he's in the shower. I can let him know that you stopped by," she returned with the not-so-subtle hint that he wasn't welcome to stay.

"Am I making you uncomfortable?" he asked rhetorically, his grin spreading, "Sorry, sweetheart. Tris and I have an appointment, so you're not getting rid of me that easily. Plus, I've heard _so_ much about you. I'm dying to get to know Tristan's infamous chit."

 _Oh, so that's how this was gonna go._

Her eyes narrowed on him. "Well, you're welcome to go die to know somewhere else."

Ellie watched Pierce's eyes widen in momentary shock before he let out a bark of laughter. "Damn, he found a feisty one. Is it because of the hair? I'm not particularly partial to redheads myself, but I've heard that it's the hair that makes you so fiery."

His surprised laughter at her retort broke the harsh layer of ice that had formed between them. She still didn't trust him – in the slightest, but his laugh made him seem more human.

"I think it's more reasonable to assume that I'm fiery because I'm having to deal with an arrogant ass who I don't know that is trying to make me uncomfortable," she replied. The bluntness of her answer surprising him again, the deviousness completely evaporating from the smile that was on his face, making him look almost… _happy._

"I'm sure that's not true, Tristan must have told you about me; you can't consider me a total stranger."

She just stared at him in response because what was she going to say?

 _Yeah, he told me you were a dangerous asshole who he never wanted me to meet._

No, she wasn't going to get involved like that between them

"I'll take your silence as an agreement," he began, his eyes narrowing, "but one that is not without reservations since you've chosen not to enthusiastically respond, which begs the question, my dear Ellie, what did my _good friend_ say about me?"

"Nothing…" she stuttered – her first mistake. Her second? Breaking his eye contact to look down at the floor. As soon as she realized her blunder, he had already closed the space between them, his jet-black eyes seeping into hers.

"What could he have said?" Pierce mused, his voice dangerously low. "Did he whine about how I lost his painting?" Her brow furrowed in confusion. "Nope, that's not it." He sighed, "did he tell you how I instigated him to punch me?...Ah, that one is a yes. So, if he told you that, he told you it out of concern, not out of the genuine need to share." He smirked at her stupefied gaze, wondering how he could know exactly so much. "I've known Tris for a long time, sweet. This isn't the first time he's gotten off his high horse to try and knock me down. One day he'll learn that I'll always win fighting dirty. Anyway, so he played the knight in shining armor, warning you about his deranged and now enraged friend?" Ellie just blinked, not wanting to respond, but knowing that somehow Pierce would interpret her response anyway. "Did he warn you to stay away from me?" He asked, beginning to laugh to himself. "Oh, that's fucking rich. Sometimes, I swear that fucker doesn't know me at all. So, what do you think, Ellie? Now that you've met me? Am I really that scary?" Here, he finally paused with a mock pouty-face, waiting for her to answer.

"No," she said sharply, refusing to back down to whatever bullying tactic he was trying. She only needed to be strong for another minute or two because she just heard the shower shut off, which meant Tristan would be out here soon to intervene.

 _Not soon enough, though._

"No?" Pierce's eyebrows raised. "Fascinating. Are you sure about that?" She refused to break his gaze, to back down, even as she felt his finger trail along her jawline and down her neck. "I would be scared of me if I were you. Tristan can't hear you, there is nowhere do run. What if I told you I wanted to kill you right now?" he asked with a smile on his face.

Her eyes lit up like green fire as she replied, her voice eerily calm and ominous, "I'd tell you that you'd have to get in line."

Just as her words registered, she turned her face from the eyebrow-raising, surprise of his and walked right around him, tired of playing his games. He was trying to frighten her, to put her on edge, but Ellie was discerning enough to see that even though his threatening façade was deep, it was still a façade.

 _She knew what it felt like to have her life-threatened, and Pierce's antics hadn't even come close._

Ellie picked up her sweater from the first kitchen stool and tugged it on over her, pulling it tight to cover across her chest. She was halfway past the kitchen to the bedroom in search of Tristan when he emerged from the doorway, a warmly seductive smile on his face until he caught sight of hers.

"Ellie, what—" Tristan began to ask before Pierce's voice boomed from behind her.

"There you are, Tristan! Ellie and I were just talking about you."

" _Fuck,"_ Tristan muttered just as Ellie reached him.

"I'm sorry. He knocked and so I answered the door and then he just came right in. I didn't know who he was until afterward…" she rambled softly.

"Shh, shh, Ellie, it's ok," he comforted her, clasping her face in his hands and raising it to tenderly kiss her lips.

"As much as you know that I always enjoy a good show, Tris, we have business to discuss," Pierce interjected into their moment, his tone a mix of entertainment and annoyance.

"Are you ok?" Tristan asked her, staring into her eyes and completely ignoring his friend, waiting until she nodded before continuing. "Did he do anything…say anything to you? I'll fucking kill him, if you tell me he did."

"No, Tristan, I'm fine," she reassured him, putting a smile on her face to try and calm his concerns. "Honestly, I think he's harmless."

"Of course, you would," he laughed, resting his forehead on hers. "I'm sorry. I knew he was going to stop by this weekend, but he didn't tell me when exactly."

"It's ok, I have some stuff I have to take care of, too."

"Alright, I'll call you later, ok?"

"Yeah." She reached up and kissed him one more time before turning back towards the door, and the devil that was standing in her way.

"You don't have to leave sweetheart. You're more than welcome to stay for the party. 'The more the merrier,' I always say," Pierce said with a wink as he stepped directly in her path.

"Maybe another time, like never," she retorted, knowing her attitude seemed to make him more amenable.

" _Pierce,"_ Tristan's voice came from the other side of the room, warning his friend to tread very carefully.

"Alright, alright," Pierce replied, his hands moving up in mock submission, allowing her to pass and make her way to the entrance, yelling after her just as she opened the door to walk through. "Well, it's been an interesting pleasure to meet you, Miss Ellie…" He trailed off, expecting one last response from her.

Turning back towards him, she glared at him and responded before Tristan could see it coming or make a move to intervene. "Carter. It's Ellie Carter." She watched his eyes go wide in complete shock of recognition before she turned and left, letting the door close behind her, but not before she heard the devil's howls of laughter echo out into the hallway.

Part of her wondered what was so funny, but that curiosity was quickly extinguished as she pulled out her phone to see the messages that were left on it: a missed call and a voicemail from an unknown number – probably from Dr. Sion, and then two missed calls and a text from her dad.

 _Crap._

Her fingers fumbled clumsily to open her phone as she stepped out of the elevator, trying to avoid the mass of people surrounding her in the process. Rushing outside, away from the crush of people, she sucked in a huge breath of fresh air, suddenly feeling like invisible walls were closing in around her. She quickly texted her dad to let him know that she was alright and that her appointment with the doctor had to be rescheduled and that she would keep him posted.

With a deep breath, she went straight to the voicemail from Dr. Sion, tapping on the play button, her breath held for what she was about to hear.

" _Hi, Ellie, it's Dr. Sion. I'm so sorry about what happened earlier, I got stuck in surgery and anyway, I'm sorry that you had to wait so long for nothing. I wanted to give you a call because I got the preliminary results back from your blood test."_ Ellie heard the pause and sigh in the message and knew what would follow would break her. " _The first results were inconclusive, unfortunately. I wanted to tell you in person because I know how concerned this will make you. The results weren't good, but they weren't bad either, Ellie, so please, try not to read too much more into this. Sometimes when you are recovering from the flu it can make the numbers unclear. Either way, I've sent it out to a different lab for a more in-depth analysis and should be back on Monday, if you are available to come in; I've let the front desk know to expect your call._

Ellie felt the world disappearing around her. " _I don't know if these new tests will reveal much more or if we will have to take some more samples in order to get to the bottom of this. In the meantime, I want you to take two of the pills that I gave you instead of just one per day. If you need a new prescription, just let the front desk know and Marge can get it taken care of for you. Most importantly, Ellie, remember that we know nothing for sure yet, so try to relax and not assume the worst. I'll see you soon. Sorry again for not being able to see you earlier –"_

Ellie hit the button to lock her phone, effectively ending the voicemail. She stared at the dark, blank screen in front of her, her eyes unable to focus on anything else.

 _Inconclusive – her life summed up in one word._

The crushing weight of those four syllables drew her back into the dark place that she hated, the place that Tristan had managed to pull her from. Ellie saw drops of water begin to appear on the glass screen, not grasping that they were her tears. She tried to breathe, air filling her lungs in awkwardly strangled gasps as she tried to tell her body that 'everything was going to be ok,' that 'this isn't the end.'

 _Her body knew better than to buy her lies._

Someone bumped into her walking by, throwing her easily off-balance in the heels that she had on. She stumbled forward, catching herself just before she toppled over. Her gaze refocused on the world that was still continuing to spin around her, even though she felt like her world had come to a _dead_ stop.

 _One step at a time; one minute at a time; one day at a time._

Her conditioned mantras began to replay in her mind, pulling her back into a functional shell of herself. Her breathing slowed as the needs of the immediate future presented themselves: go home, change, call her dad.

The tasks became a guide, a glimmer of light for the murky path ahead. She looked up the tall expanse of Tristan's building one last time, pain blooming in her chest, thinking about him in his apartment. He was so close, his comfort was so close and yet, from down here she felt like he was living in a castle in the sky, in a happy-ending tale that she was getting farther and farther away from. She closed her eyes for a second, searching the depths of her heart for the vibrant memory of everything that had happened between them last night, everything they had shared, but mostly for everything that he had made her feel.

 _He'd made her feel alive, if only for a night. Like Cinderella, the harsh toll of her malignant midnight had sounded, putting an end to her fairytale of freedom._


	27. Chapter 26

Chapter 26

Tristan glared at his friend, wanting to rip his laughing head right off of his shoulders.

"That's fucking good, Tris," Pierce managed to get out between howls of laughter. "So. Fucking. Good." He bent over, his hands on his knees trying to catch his breath while Tristan watched in brooding silence, waiting for the show to be over. "I'm right, though, or you'd be ripping into me right now… Ellie Carter, as in Jack Carter's daughter. Holy shit, that is rich."

"You done yet?" Tristan asked, his irritation palpable.

"For now, I think." Pierce finally stood up straight, still wearing a giant smile across his face. "You know, I came here all prepared to rip you a new one for fucking punching me in the face, but now, after seeing this, I don't even care about being pissed off at you anymore."

"Oh, you don't? Great, then we are done here," Tristan replied, walking into the kitchen to grab himself a bottle of water. He knew that wouldn't actually be the end of it though, hearing Pierce's shoes click across the floor, stopping when he reached the kitchen island.

"Nah, not yet, my _friend,_ " Pierce said, a devious look in his eyes, "got anything good to drink back there?"

"What do you want?"

"Mmm…how about the water of life?" Unlike Sloane, Pierce didn't give a shit what time of day it was; it was always time for a drink. Tristan pulled out the bottle of Jameson he had stashed below the counter, pouring Pierce a generous glass and sliding it across the granite.

"So, what's the plan, Tris?" Pierce asked, taking a long swig of the drink. "Does she even know her dad has your portrait?"

"No," Tristan responded tightly, really not wanting to share any more information with Pierce than was necessary.

"You owe me."

"I don't owe you shit except an apology, which I'm more than happy to give," Tristan bit out. "I shouldn't have punched you and I'm sorry. Now, can we move on?"

Pierce's eyes narrowed, his face shadowing with seriousness for a moment before he spoke again. "No. You lost something of mine, permanently it would seem, and I lost something of yours temporarily, but then you went and punched me over a goddamn joke, albeit crude. You fucking owe me a decent explanation."

Tristan's mouth thinned. Pierce was just trying to torture him – he didn't need an explanation, he just wanted to hear about Tristan's suffering as recompense.

"I, temporarily, lost control of my emotions – that is my explanation." He wasn't going to give in that easily.

"Why? What is so special about this girl, besides the fact that she is Jack Carter's daughter? If anything, I would think lewd jokes about her would be welcome after he refused to give you back the portrait," Pierce surmised, taking another sip of his whiskey. "So, I'm curious about your plan. If it were me, I'd be fucking her and leaving her, but I don't see any signs that that is what's happening. Well, the fucking part definitely is." He paused here to chuckle to himself, watching Tristan fume on the other side of the counter. "What is going on in that head of yours, Tris? Or are you no longer thinking with your head?"

 _There it was._

The gauntlet had been thrown. He owed his friend an explanation, and that explanation was something that he hadn't even had a chance to admit to himself, even though he'd known what conclusion all the signs are pointing to.

" _Christ,"_ he spat, pulling another glass out of the cupboard and pouring himself some of the Jameson, taking a long sip, refusing to meet Pierce's penetrating eyes.

"Look," Pierce said, the anger evaporating from his voice, "I just want to know what the fuck is going on. Honestly, if you care about the girl, which I can see why, she's a fucking spitfire – it's incredible…if you care about her, then I probably deserved to be punched in the face. For the record though, I will never admit that again or recall ever saying it after leaving here today."

Surprised by Pierce's sudden change in demeanor, Tristan took advantage of his compassionate misstep and told him what he needed to hear. "I do fucking care about her, and no, it wasn't the fucking plan. Fucking her and then leaving her was the plan, to see if breaking her would change her father's position on returning my property. I don't know what fucking happened and that's the truth. I'm here – I care about her, I can't stop thinking about her, and I don't know what I'm fucking going to do." He stopped in frustration, draining the rest of his glass waiting for Pierce's response.

Pierce finished the rest of his drink, too, just staring at Tristan with his darkly brooding eyes. After a minute of silence, Tristan finally spoke again, unnerved by his friend's lack of response. "Well? Is that enough of an explanation?"

A smile broke over Pierce's face. "Yes. That's enough." He let out a small laugh and Tristan took a deep breath, only imaging the ways their conversation could go from here.

"You know you're royally fucked, right?" Pierce asked, his eyes alighting with entertainment.

"Yeah, I know," Tristan admitted. It was a painful and aggravating truth, but not one worth denying – not at this point.

"Because, let me see if I get this straight. Granted, I've never cared for anyone so I can't speak from experience or certainty, but if there is one thing that I do know how to do, it's scheme." Pierce began to toy with his glass, spinning it on the counter in front of him as he continued, "so, if you care about her, and want to pursue a relationship with her, you'll have to tell her about your mom's portrait, and her dad's relationship to it – either that or she'll find out the hard way the second she goes to introduce you to him. Or, knowing that the certain outcome of that option is losing her, you decide to preemptively break her heart and hope that at least you can get your mom's portrait back out of the deal." He paused again, thinking for a moment. "Did I miss anything?"

Tristan glared at his friend and the truth in what he said – a truth that his brain had been subconsciously taunting him with for days now. He didn't need to respond, and he didn't want to. There were layers of complexity to the situation that Pierce wasn't aware of, that only aggravated the options he'd already laid out.

"Well, my friend," Pierce sighed, "from the perspective of a schemer, I'd say you are shit-outta-luck."

"Yeah," Tristan responded wryly, "no shit. Any other gems of wisdom that you got for me? Maybe ones that would actually be helpful…"

Pierce laughed, the tension between them finally dissipating. "No, unfortunately, that's all I can do. Once emotions get involved, that's my cue to leave; I have no experience with anything of the sort."

"I figured."

"Watch it, Tris. That tone is what started this whole ordeal," Pierce warned him lightly, even though there was a thread of hardness running through his words.

"Yeah. So, we're good then?" Tristan asked, trying to return them to the whole point of this conversation.

"Yeah, we're good. You're suffering far worse than anything I could have inflicted on you, which is why I'm just going to sit back and enjoy the show."

"Fucker."

"Hey," Pierce interjected, throwing his hands up, "it's not my fault you let your fucking emotions get involved. I told you a long time ago to leave that shit alone; it will literally destroy you."

"God, I wish I could, man, you have no idea," Tristan laughed in spite of himself, "I wish I could; you know how important lighting is when you are taking a photograph?" He paused, waiting for Pierce to nod in acknowledgement. "Well, Ellie, she's become my light source; without her, everything seems dark, but when I'm with her, the world is lit up on fire – the level of inspiration is off the charts."

Tristan thought he saw a flash of recognition, of a true understanding of what he was trying to tell Pierce, but just like a flash, the light disappeared a split second later replaced by a blank stare. The vacant look was Pierce's attempt to show only a superficial understanding to what Tristan was trying to explain.

"Tris, that might be the dumbest shit I've ever heard, but I get what you are trying to say. Don't really understand it all – hollow inside, remember?" Pierce rhetorically asked as he pretended to knock on the left side of his chest where his heart 'should be.'

"Whatever, man. I just don't fucking know what to do."

"Do you love her?" Pierce asked bluntly, saying the word 'love' like it left an acrid taste in his mouth.

 _Do I love her? Is that what this is?_

Tristan just stopped and stared at his friend, his mind processing the suggestion. He knew lust and desire and need, but not love like that. The last person he remembered loving was his mother, and he'd lost her. He loved his father, but he'd lost him, too. It seemed like every person he loved at that level he had lost. Was he willing to risk that kind of pain on loving Ellie?

 _Did he even have a choice?_

"The point is, I don't know what will happen if I lose her." Tristan evaded answering the question because he couldn't handle the possibility that this was love that he was feeling, especially in front of Pierce.

"Well, then you better figure out which option is going to leave the least number of casualties. Usually, the more secrets, the more casualties."

"Yeah," Tristan sighed, resting his elbows on the granite and putting his head in his hands.

"And I wasn't just talking about yours…" Pierce said, his dark eyes flaring. Tristan glanced up, his brow furrowing in question, wondering what Pierce could possibly know about Ellie's past secrets. Nothing, he probably knew nothing, but Pierce had an uncanny way of knowing just when people were hiding something, and just what buttons to push to bring it out. Before Tristan could think of how to respond, Pierce continued, "Damn, the way Sloane talked about this did not make it seem as bad as it is, didn't make you seem like you got it as bad as you do," Pierce mumbled.

"He doesn't know much, for the exact reason that I knew he would tell you," Tristan said in annoyance.

"Chill, he didn't tell me anything. I pried, he told me in generalities that I'd have to talk to you. I'm just talking body language. You know Sloane can be like an open book with that type of thing. I'm just surprised I didn't get such a serious vibe from him."

"Well, like I said, he doesn't know much, so that's probably why."

"Yeah…" Pierce trailed off, looking around the apartment, letting everything that was said and revealed between them to settle. "Alright, I'm going to get going. I have a hot date tonight, well two, actually, if you want to be specific. I'd invite you, but I have a disgusting feeling that you'll turn me down for reasons that I will never understand."

"Well, you'd be right," Tristan smirked, the days when he'd eagerly take Pierce up on his offers seemed so much farther away now.

"Actually, speaking of my dates, what does this mean for the competition? Are you forfeiting? You better not be." The spark of playful competition chasing the seriousness from his friend's face.

"I don't know. I need to figure my shit out, and even if I was, I don't think I would tell you – wouldn't want you to get lazy or anything," he taunted back.

Pierce just laughed. "Well, I'm gonna head out then. Good fuckin' luck with it all. Not to be a Debbie-downer, but when your heart gets fucking trampled, you let me know and I'll show you how to effectively remove it from your chest." He winked with his offer as he stood and began to walk towards the door.

"I'll talk to you later." Tristan closed the door behind Pierce. Turning to face his empty apartment, the first and only thought that came to his mind was Ellie.

He wanted her back here. Now. He stalked around his apartment looking for where he had set it down the night before. He wanted to text her and see if she'd finished her errands.

 _God, he was starting to sound like such a needy bitch._

That's what Pierce would say – good thing he was gone. What he had left though was even more disturbing. Tristan sat on the bed, spinning his phone through his fingers in absentminded distraction while he contemplated the heavy weight in his chest.

 _Did he love her? Is that what all of this was?_

She was always on his mind – whether it was wanting to talk to her, or wanting to do _other_ things to her. She invaded his sleep, his dreams, his art; he found himself daydreaming and scribbling at the office, in meetings. When he finally realized what he was doing, there was Ellie looking back at him. He knew how much he desired her, _that_ there was no doubt in his mind – or any other part of his body, for that matter. She had completely enflamed his body, but more than that, she'd invaded his mind and his stumbled awkwardly into his heart.

Before Ellie, provoking deeper emotions of his models, his subjects had been a game – one that he only felt satisfaction in winning and being able to capture the rewards. With Ellie, he didn't care about drawing her – even though she never ceased to provide inspiration in that arena, he wanted to inspire her emotions just to see her experience them. He wanted her to excite and provoke her so that she could truly experience those emotions, not just so that he could capture them; he wanted to please her for her, no longer just for himself.

When she wasn't with him, every breath of oxygen was only a means of life-support, like it was just enough to hold him over until he could breathe her in again and come back to life.

Tristan began to laugh – the rich, fullness of the sound permeating throughout the empty apartment, his happy enlightenment echoing through every room.

 _You are so in love with her, and you are so fucked._

He just kept laughing at himself, at his foolishness, his blindness. He'd been the one to scoff in Pierce's face that his friend 'wouldn't know love if it came up and punched him in the face.'

 _And wouldn't you know it, it fucking did – he loved Ellie, hell, he'd love her for a while; it was his love for her that sparked him to punch his best friend. Only he was the one too blind to recognize it._

 _You're a class act, Tristan, a class act._

His laughter died down to a few silent chuckles of air rushing into his lungs. He, of all people, was in love. He'd spent years actively trying to prevent this, keeping busy with work, but making sure his physical needs were met. At some point along the line, he'd felt so hardened against any attempt on his heart that he'd become complacently confident in his indestructible barriers. Confident to the point where he didn't think twice about an awkward ginger tripping into his life, especially one that he'd been bent on destroying.

He looked at his phone again, his fingers burning to call her, but he couldn't – not yet. He needed a new plan since, as Pierce would say, his old plan is 'royally fucked'. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he tried to outline his options. The first wasn't even an option – he had to tell Ellie about what had happened between him and her father. The question was, did she have to know the whole truth? Did he have to tell her that he was planning on using her for revenge? What if he just told her that he thought if he got to know her, he could convince her to ask her father for the portrait back on his behalf? It was believable and it would leave their other arrangement – the one where her father blackmailed him into creating her portrait in the first place – out of it.

 _It seemed like the best option._

Then, he could go to Jack and explain to him that he was in love with Ellie, and that if Jack didn't want to break his daughter's heart, he probably should give him back the portrait.

 _Yeah, blackmailing your future father-in-law is a genius plan. Moron._

Tristan huffed, rewinding his thoughts back a few steps to start over. What if he just went to Jack first? Told him how he felt about Ellie and that it would be in both of their best interests to _not_ let her know that meeting Tristan wasn't by chance, but by extorted coercion; that would hurt her more than either one of them would want.

That still left his mother's portrait in Jack's possession. Sure, there was a chance that out of the goodness of his heart, or seeing how happy his daughter is, that he would return it to Tristan, but that wasn't a given.

 _And that doesn't even explain how her father ended up with one of his pieces in the first place, or who Titian was, for that matter; another secret, that's who he was._

He would have to tell her about the Guild. Hell, she'd already met all of its members. If she was going to be a permanent muse in his life, she would have to know about them and what they do.

 _What they do…_

His jaw clenched at the thought. What would he do now? For the past seven years, there had been a method to his work, one that relied on his heart not being attached. It wasn't that he doubted that Ellie would be able to provide him with enough inspiration to create enough original pieces, but would she want to?

 _Would he want her to?_

A fierce jolt of possessiveness ran through him; he didn't want anyone else to see her like he did. She was his. Everything that he made her feel was for him and his eyes alone. He'd have to scale back, or find some other subject matter to use, regardless of whether Ellie was ok with her portraits being auctioned – _he wasn't._

 _Fuck._

This was definitely not part of the plan and it was something he would have to discuss with the rest of the Guild; he was their leader and he didn't know how they would react, especially Pierce. Pierce never dealt with love and even though he didn't care what Tristan did with his emotions, he wouldn't expect anything to change within the Guild, _but something would have to._

He grabbed his phone, opening up his recent calls.

"Hello?" Sloane's mellow voice picked up.

"Hey, got a sec?"

"Yeah. What's up? You survive Pierce?"

"Yeah, we're good."

"Fan-fucking-tastic. So, I'm assuming then that's not why you called," Sloane mused.

"No. I'm in love."

"I know."

"Seriously?" Tristan asked in disbelief.

"Tris, all I do is sculpt expressions of love and lust; if I can't recognize the look of love by now, I might as well quit this whole artist gig." Sloane laughed lightly.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Why would you have believed me? You don't just tell someone that they are in love; they have to realize it all on their own – especially you."

"What's that supposed to me?"

"You are stubborn, just like Pierce. If I told you that – or even hinted at it, you would have so royally fucked yourself in that relationship just trying to prove that you weren't; I'm not going to be responsible for that. I no longer meddle in peoples' relationship, I've learned that the hard way," Sloane finished softly, remorse clouding his words. Tristan didn't know what troubled his friend, but he knew better than to ask. "So, I'm assuming you are telling me this for a reason?"

"My role in the Guild is going to need to change."

There was a pregnant pause on the other end of the line. "In what way?" Sloane asked, his voice deeper and on edge.

"I can't produce the same kind of art anymore – not using someone else, and definitely not using Ellie."

"Oh, that's all?" Relief reverberated in his friend's voice.

"Yeah, what did you think I was going to say?"

"Nothing," Sloane answered firmly, "that's fine. I certainly don't give a shit what you draw; if no one bids on it, it's your loss."

"Ass," Tristan shot back.

"Seriously though, I'm sure you'll figure out something just as enticing that people will want. You already have a reputation – if you make something, someone will buy it."

"Yeah," Tristan responded, breathing a little deeper with his friend's vote of confidence, "I just know it's going to be a big deviation from what we've been doing since we start this whole thing."

"Yeah, but who cares? Pierce is always whining that we need to change things up anyway, now you get to rub it in his face that we are."

"Something like that," Tristan laughed, still hesitant about having this same discussion with Pierce. As much as Pierce loved change and the unexpected, he only really loved it when it happened to others, not to himself, especially with something that hit so close to him. They were just finally back on decent terms after this morning, and now it looked like Tristan was going to have to drop this bomb on him.

"You good?" Sloane asked, breaking the heavy silence that had settled over the line.

"Yeah, thanks man, just thinking," Tristan loosely explained.

"Sure. I'm happy for you, that you found Ellie." Tristan heard the sincere happiness in his friend's voice, but also caught the potent sadness that was intertwined with it; the sadness stemmed from outside sources though, ones out of Tristan's control. "I wanted to tell you that before – you know, when I saw how bad you had it for her." His laugh had just the hint of being forced, trying to move off of a subject that was clearly causing him to struggle with deeply-seeded regret.

"Thanks," Tristan said wryly, following Sloane's lead and letting the conversation take a lighter, more playful tone. "Alright, well if you're done rubbing my idiocy in my face, I'm going to get going. I have a lady to woo."

"Later."

"Aren't you going to wish me luck?"

"Why? She's already wooed," Sloane informed him confidently before he heard the click of the line going dead.

 _God, he fucking hoped so._

Ellie sat on her couch, a glass of dry red wine in her hand and dried tears of hopelessness on her face. Her thumb played over the screen of her phone where the notification of a missed call from Tristan still sat. She had heard it and held it as it rung earlier. She'd been at her dad's, which was the most legitimate reason for her not answering it, but she doubted she would have if she'd been alone.

Opening up the screen, she cleared the alert, opening up her texts to the message that she'd sent him as soon as his call had gone to voicemail:

\- _Hey, I'm talking to my dad. I'll call you, later._

Perfectly normal, perfectly legitimate, and a perfect example of one of her many omissions. Her heart squeezed as she read over his response.

~ _Alright, siren. Sorry about earlier. Can't wait to fucking talk to you. Can't wait to fuck you again either, gorgeous._

Every time she read it, without fail, it sent a jolt of lust right to the center of her. He knew just how much she loved when he made it clear just how crazy with lust she made him. That power over him intensified her desire for him tenfold.

 _Or more._

But, she couldn't call him back now. Her tears had just stopped, her voice though was still hoarse from crying. She was surprised, she'd managed to hold it together while she relayed to her dad what Dr. Sion had said in the voicemail. When she got home though, everything had changed.

As she swirled the wine in the glass, slowing sipping it down after learning from the painful and embarrassing events of her last foray into drinking alone, she tried to process her emotions, she tried to break them down into manageable bites. This wasn't like the first time, or the second time, when she learned that she had cancer. Surprisingly, that part, while defeating and disheartening, wasn't what had broken her. It had been that last look up at Tristan's apartment building, his face in the back of her mind, and the knowledge that this time losing to cancer didn't just mean losing herself, it meant losing him – and that was what was devastatingly destroying her.

He had taken her off life-support, pulling her out from the shadows into the world that was alive with emotions and experiences just waiting for her to explore. Sure, she'd been in remission for almost a year, but that didn't mean that she had been living in that time either. Tristan breathed life and the love of living back into her, and she loved him for it.

 _She loved him._

The realization wasn't a shock to her, it wasn't even really a realization. It was just a truth, a part of her that she finally decided to say out loud. It was like something that had been inside of her all along – a seed finally deciding to bloom. What happened to the aspiring blossom remained to be seen.

Losing her life wasn't so simple now. Now, it meant losing love, too – a fate infinitely worse. She cried because she didn't want to lose him, but at the same time, she didn't want him to have to lose her. Worst yet, she didn't want him to have to watch her slowly slip away, watch the life he brought out in her slowly and painfully fade away. Ultimately, it wasn't her choice though. She was greedy and selfish; she would stay with him for as long as he would let her because even though she had the strength to fight her cancer, she didn't have the strength to let him go.

 _Get it together, Ellie, because that means you're going to have to tell him._

She took another sip of wine, thinking about that inevitability. She would have to tell him, which meant coming to terms with the fact that he would never look at her the same way. It was ok though, she would take tainted version of herself over a nonexistent version of them.

 _She should have known better than to expect a perfectly happy ending; cancer was nothing but crushing compromises._

She flipped back to her missed calls screen. She wouldn't tell him until the final test results came back and she had all the answers to every question she knew he was bound to ask. In the meantime, she would _live_ the next few days to the fullest without a thought of the future, until she saw Dr. Sion and her fate was written in stone.

With that newfound resolve, she tapped on his name in hot pursuit of a few more days of blissful ignorance.

"Hey there, siren," his deep, husky voice answered.

Ellie smiled in spite of herself. "Hey there."

"What are you doing?"

"Oh, just sitting on my couch, drinking some wine…" Her breath caught, anticipating his response to her admission.

"Oh, yeah? Are you sure that's a good idea after the last time?" Even though he was joking, Ellie could hear the undercurrent of desire enter his tone, remembering just what had happened that time.

"Don't worry, I'm taking it nice and easy this time," she scoffed in reply.

She heard him moan into the phone. "Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining, gorgeous. If I recall, I had you fingering yourself nice and easy the last time, too." She choked on the mouthful of wine that she just attempted to swallow.

 _How did he always manage to do this to her?_

She crossed her legs on the couch, trying to ease the sudden pressure that had built between her thighs. The sudden shift in position telling her that just those few words already had her soaking through her underwear.

"How did you meeting go with Pierce?" she choked out, her voice awkward and strained from the wine going down the wrong pipe.

Tristan chuckled on the other end of the line, hearing her pained attempt to change the subject. "Fine," came his non-descript answer. "Are you ok? I know I asked you before but did he do anything to you? Say anything to you?"

"No, nothing that I couldn't handle," Ellie reassured him lightly, thinking back on the scope of the day she actually had to try not to laugh at how dealing with Pierce was the least difficult thing she'd had to cope with in the past twenty-four hours. "He's harmless, you know. Hurting, but harmless."

There was a momentary pause as Tristan absorbed the perspicacity of her remark, the calmness and confident ease with which she made that discernment; it was as though she'd just told him the sky was blue. "Unbelievably unpredictable," he responded in awe.

"What?"

"You," he said simply. "I've known Pierce for years, and I've seen what happens when other people meet him for the first time, when he's been in a good mood, and most people just assume that he's an ass. You…you can see right through that, something that few people have been able to do."

 _Those who suffer inside, or have suffered, are easily recognizable to one another,_ she thought, but instead just replied, "Well, most people see what they want to see."

"Perhaps just like you used to?" he teased gently. "Now, you know better than to think you are anything but exquisite."

"Whatever you say…" She purposefully provoked him.

"I'd be happy to show you again." Ellie could practically feel his desire radiating through the phone.

"I don't know. I seem to be a pretty slow learner. You might have to show me two or three times…" she played along, biting her lip. Playing into his sexual banter was doing nothing to subdue the building ache inside of her.

" _Christ,_ Ellie, you know I would fucking love to…or should I say you know I would love fucking you."

She moaned, unable to stop the rush of pleasure through her body, desperately craving the action to his words. "I should go," she whispered.

"Are you sure about that? I was thinking you should stay; you know I love listening to you come from the sound of my voice."

Ellie groaned. She wanted to – she really, _really_ wanted to, but she was bone-tired from the trauma of the day. She could hardly focus on the words he was saying as it was.

"It's ok, Ellie," he said, as if he knew her internal struggle. His soft, seductive voice hoarsely leading her senses out of their cancerous confusion. "Remember my mouth on you last night? How I sucked on that deliciously sweet pussy of yours?"

Ellie moaned, knowing she'd lost the battle.

"That's my girl," he whispered, knowing that she'd given in to his seductive spell. "Put your fingers on yourself and remember how my tongue toyed with your delectable clit." She moaned again, deeper this time, as she began to rub over the sensitive bud, her eyes closed as she remembered holding his head between her legs while he teased her to the brink of insanity.

"Beautiful, Ellie," he praised her, his voice getting harder and hoarser as his own pleasure was building, even though he was doing nothing on his end to fulfill it. "Now, put a finger inside of yourself and remember my tongue inside of you, slipping easily inside that hot, tight treasure of yours to taste you." She groaned, her body easily on the edge of orgasm with his instructions. "So goddamn beautiful. _Christ,_ you have to know how much I wish I was inside of you right now. Soon, sweetheart," he promised, whether it was more for her or himself, she was too distracted to be sure. "Now, take those drenched fingers of yours back onto that sweet, swollen nub and make yourself come, just like my mouth did." Her finger moved, beginning to rub frantically over the bundle of nerves that was screaming for release. "I want to hear you scream, Ellie," he said harshly, "I want to hear you scream just like you did for my mouth last night. I want you to come so hard that I can taste you from here."

His name flew from her lips like water bursting through a dam as her orgasm flooded through her. He kept whispering soothingly to her as her body came back down from its electrified elevation, slowly bringing her relaxed body back to Earth.

"You were saying?" he asked, his soft joke barely registering in her questionably coherent mind.

"I was?" she murmured, no longer caring about anything that she'd been saying or doing.

Tristan chuckled. "You are exquisitely adorable and now, it's time for you to go to bed."

"Oh, that's right, I was saying…" Recognition dawned on her.

"Yes, you were, siren. Come over tomorrow when I'm done with work, like around six or so? I have something else that I want to show you," his voice rasped with unfulfilled desire and anticipation.

"Something else?" she murmured, intrigued. "So many things to show me, Mr. Black."

"Don't worry, siren, you're going to show me something in return," he promised.

"And what would that be?" her question genuine with wonder as butterflies soared in her stomach; a million possibilities floating through her mind, all ending in ecstasy.

"Trust me. You know you always like my surprises."

 _It was true._

"You know you're always telling me how 'unpredictable' I am, maybe you shouldn't be so confident," she managed to tease him even as her eyes struggled to stay open.

"Go to bed, Ellie," he laughed.

"Aren't you going to say 'goodnight'?"

"I'd rather think that I showed you a 'goodnight.' Much better than just saying it, don't you think?"

"Mmm…very much better," she agreed on a yawn.

"Goodnight, Ellie."

"Goodnight, Tristan."

She fell asleep right on the couch, her dreams just as sweet as her 'goodnight.'


	28. Chapter 27

Chapter 27

Her neck cramped as her eight AM alarm going off jarred Ellie from her deep sleep. Reaching up to rub the inflamed muscle, she pried her eyes apart, slowly remembering why every other muscle in her body was protesting any sort of movement – she'd fallen asleep on the couch last night after hanging up with Tristan. At around two in the morning, she'd woken up because her foot had fallen completely asleep from the way that she'd been sitting which prompted her to awkwardly hobble into her bedroom and crash into her own bed, sleep overtaking her again. Now, the harsh buzzing welcomed in the new day, complete with its own list of worries and anticipations.

Shutting off the alarm, she saw a new message from Tristan sent at six o'clock this morning.

 _What an early bird._

Opening up the message, she read:

\- _Good morning, sunshine. I hope you had a 'goodnight' ;) Don't forget – six o'clock tonight, you are mine._

A shiver rolled through her at his possessive tone, leaving a glowing warmth in its wake; the warmth of belonging, of being wanted and needed, it was life to her desperately fading soul.

~ _Can't wait,_ she replied, letting her phone drop onto the bed beside her, smiling to herself as she stretched out her aching limbs.

Leaving her phone buried in the covers, Ellie got out of bed and hopped in the shower, letting the water scald her skin in the hopes that the warmth would relax her muscles, and the steam would clear her mind. She tried to focus on Tristan for as long as she could, replaying the events of the other night over again in her head until her body became as hot as the shower stream. Thoughts of that night gradually drifted in to memories of the following morning, and in the midst of the burning water, she felt cold. Turning off the shower, and the spigot of those downward thoughts, she stepped out into the cold air.

Toweling dry, she threw on her robe and padded into the kitchen, pouring herself a generous bowl of cereal with coconut milk. Taking her time, she savored every bite, trying to tuck away and remember each flavor for when the chemo decided to take away her sense of taste. Again. This time, she was prepared. Last time, she had a meltdown the day she went to eat her lunch, and realized that she could no longer taste it. The memory was scarred into her; it had been a tomato and mozzarella salad with a balsamic dressing, yet she'd tasted nothing. She'd cried for hours on her father, wondering if she'd even regain her taste back, trying to go through and remember the exact flavors of all of her favorite foods, and realizing that she couldn't. That was why trying new foods was such an experience for her; when her treatment had finally stopped, and her taste buds returned, every meal was like trying a new food – even things like pizza or a cheeseburger and she didn't take it for granted; she savored and assessed every bite, trying to catalog it.

 _Just in case_.

Maybe that's why Tristan was so fascinated when he had her try new things – because she was so focused on the event. It wasn't just a simple thing for her; it was something that could be lost and shouldn't be taken for granted. Drinking the last of the milk from her bowl, she rinsed it in the sink and turned back towards her bedroom door to face the immediate tasks of the day.

 _Just breathe, Ellie, and go one step at a time._

Rummaging through the comforter, she uncovered her phone. _Almost eleven o'clock already._ She tapped into her recent calls, scrolling to find the number for Dr. Sion's office. She should have called at eight when the opened, but calling then made her feel like she was desperate. Desperate for details, a diagnosis, or death, she wasn't quite sure. Ellie stared at the screen, putting off what she needed to do for just a few more seconds – as if it would make some sort of difference.

"Hello, Dr. Sion's office, this is Marge speaking, how can I help you?" the familiar nurse answered.

"Hi, Marge. It's Elsa Carter. Dr. Sion left me a voicemail the other night saying that she's waiting for more results from my bloodwork to come back today but that she wanted me to call and get in the schedule this week."

"Oh, hi Elsa, yes, of course. One moment here while I pull up your chart." There was a pause and Ellie heard the tapping and clicking of the woman's fingers on a computer. "Oh…oh, yes. We definitely will want to see you this week. Your results were rushed and should be back today, so would tomorrow morning work?"

Ellie tried to not let the nurse's sadly, shocked 'ohs' get to her. "That's fine."

"Does ten o'clock work?"

"Sure, I'll see you then. Thank you."

"Of course, thanks for calling. See you tomorrow, Elsa." _Click._

Ellie was frozen until the beeping of the dead line summoned her back to action. Letting the phone drop from her face, she quickly brushed the moisture that had collected in her eyes, and opened up her closet.

 _One day at a time._

Her deep breathing coincided with her mantra recycling over and over again in her head. She had until six o'clock and she had to get out of here.

Throwing on her typical jeans, t-shirt, and blazer, she tossed her hair up in a messy bun and practically ran out of her apartment. She needed to be publically alone – a solitary figure wandering amidst the lively world existing around her. First, she walked to her dad's, even though he was at the office right now; Ellie had a key and she wanted to grab some of the leftovers from dinner last night that she'd forgotten to take home with her. His apartment was spacious – much more spacious than hers and far more typical of the income level that he possessed. It was also much roomier than one person needed. She remembered being surprised when he'd moved in here after she had left for college. She'd always chalked it up to him wanting more space to maybe start dating again – something she would have been thrilled to have seen for him, he'd been alone for so long. Years passed though and nothing happened.

 _Not nothing – she got sick._

Guilt rolled through her. He'd never admit it and she'd never ask, but her illness the last time had taken its toll. Ellie opened the refrigerator, looking for the leftovers and letting the icy air freeze her thoughts mid-time-travel. Pulling out the to-go containers, she turned to leave when something caught her eye by the dining room table. She hadn't noticed it before, but then again, she rarely went into the dining room; they always ate on the couch, relaxed and talking.

Walking over to the giant brown-paper covered mass, she set the carton down on the tabletop to run her hands over the edge of the large rectangular package. Why she was drawn to it, she had no clue. Maybe it was her mind's subconscious attempt to focus on anything, wonder about anything else besides whether or not her cancer had returned.

It was definitely a piece of art, which was weird for her dad to have. He wasn't really the artsy type. Carefully releasing the tape that fastened the cardboard-like covering over the artwork, she peeled back the paper layers to reveal a drawing. A portrait.

 _A very good portrait._

Whomever had done this was an incredible artist, although not better than Tristan; but Ellie admitted to herself that she might be just a little biased. She didn't recognize the woman even though there was something very familiar about her. Her first thought was that maybe this was someone her dad knew – maybe he was finally seeing someone! She would have thought he would have said something to her though… then again, he had no idea about Tristan. Ellie bit her lip.

 _She looks so familiar, especially her smile._

Ellie stared at the face in front of her, trying to place it. Maybe it was someone who worked at the firm, that would explain why it she felt like she must have met the woman before. The woman's serenely calm and small, satisfied smile comforted Ellie.

 _It's ok, everything is going to be just fine._ It was as though she could hear the words coming out of the painting the expressiveness conveyed by the artist was astounding. She just stared for a minute, letting the calm that exuded from the image diffuse into her anxious and agitated cells. Whomever this woman was, she deeply loved the focus of her gaze – the artist, Ellie assumed, smiling to herself wondering if Tristan ever saw her looking at him that way.

Wrapping the frame back up, she grabbed the leftovers and headed out of her dad's apartment. Only five more hours to go. Only five more hours to Tristan. He'd said that he had a surprise for her well, she was going to have a surprise for him. This afternoon, she was going to treat herself – hair, nails, and a new outfit. It was something that she couldn't even remember the last time that she did; the times when her dad got her a gift certificate for some sort of spa service didn't count. Tonight, she would knock on his door tonight feeling exactly as beautiful as he kept insisting that she was.

Tristan stalked back through his apartment one last time, making sure everything was set up just the way that he wanted it. He'd gotten a lot of work done on Ellie's portrait the other night after he'd gotten off the phone with her – too aroused to sleep, he'd focused his physical energy into his art; his pencil touching every curve of her that his fingers wished he was feeling. Now, it was almost done and he wanted her to see it.

Finally, deciding that everything was just where he wanted it, Tristan walked back into the kitchen to get out the meat and cheese platters that he'd had prepared earlier. He didn't want to do a huge meal, and he hoped she didn't mind. Instead, he picked up the most expensive bottle of Cabernet he could find along with a selection of finely cured meats and fresh cheeses. He might have gone a little overboard – his entire island was covered in the hors d'oeuvres buffet that was supposed to be a 'light meal'. Grabbing two wine glasses from the cupboard, he popped open the bottle and generously filled both, recorking the bottle just as he heard her familiar knock on the door; the sound putting every fiber of his body on alert, his blood pumping just a little faster, and his pants fitting just a little tighter.

Walking over to the door, still holding her glass, he eagerly removed the first barrier between them.

 _Holy fucking Christ._

His jaw dropped, having no words to respond. He blinked a few times to make sure he wasn't imagining it, but sure enough, it was still Ellie. Except it wasn't just her, or the normally gorgeous version of her. Her hair fell in long, sculpted curls around her; the red flickering in the dim light of the hall. Her outfit – black heels, tight black jeans, and a low-cut, V-neck, navy halter that looked like it was painted onto her. The soft swells of her breasts emphasized with the neckline and he could easily see as her nipples peaked underneath his gaze. To top it all off, she'd done her makeup to accentuate the vibrant green eyes that were staring at him with an intoxicating mix of desire and amusement.

"Hello, Tristan," she said, her voice low and seductive. He watched her lips move over his name, tempted to just yank her in here and fuck her against the door.

"Hello, Unpredictable Ellie," he rasped, his mouth dry even though he was drooling at the sight of her.

She confidently walked in through the open door, stopping in front of him to take the wine glass that he'd forgotten he was holding. "I take it this is for me." She laughed huskily.

 _Oh, siren, you have no idea._

Letting her take the stem, he used his hand to grab her wrist. His eyes glowed gold as his other hand raised up to trail his finger lightly down her chest, in between the mounds of her breasts.

" _I take it this is for me,_ " he returned as his knuckles grazed over her sensitive flesh. Her shiver was his answer just before she took a sip of the wine that he'd offered her.

"I believe I was promised surprises last night," she teased, her lips toying with the edge of the glass.

"Oh, you're going to get more than that, sweetheart," his whispered as he pulled her to him, his lips claiming hers.

 _God, he'd missed her._

Even though he wanted nothing more than to shove himself so deeply inside of her right now, he kissed her tenderly, tasting her sweetness mixed with the dryness of the wine. Sweet and dry. Fire and ice. Willing and defiant.

 _His Ellie was an enigma._

Reluctantly, he released her mouth. The sparks between them threatened to set all of his plans for the evening ablaze.

"Are you hungry?" he whispered, his face still inches from hers, as he stared into her verdantly, vibrant gaze.

"Mmhmm," she moaned, nodding slightly with the soft sound.

"Good," he replied, a grin breaking out over his face as he stepped back from her and led the way into the kitchen and the spread of food awaiting them.

Ellie's eyes widened over the rim of the wine glass as she saw all of the meats and cheeses that were arranged on the island. "Wow," she murmured, "I'm not sure I'm that hungry." She laughed teasingly, even though her mouth had begun to water.

"It'll go down easily, trust me; there always seems to be room for more cheese," he grinned as he offered her a small plate, prompting her to take her pick of the choices in front of her.

She looked over all of the options for a second before her gaze returned to his. "You know I have no idea what I'm looking at right – unless I missed any cleverly-disguised string cheese or bologna. You know what I like," her tone deepened suggestively on the request, handing her plate back to him.

" _I do,_ " he responded in turn, his eyes shining like gold foil underneath the light. "So, what did you do today?" he asked as he began to pick selectively among the options, placing specific meats and cheeses together on her plate. Focused on the task in front of him, he missed her subtle wince and the way her eyelids fluttered closed.

"Well, you're looking at most of it," she laughed. "It really does take an entire day to get me to look like this." A little bit of humor to mask the hurt goes a long way.

Tristan glared at her for attempting to demean herself, even if it was just a joke. "Keep talking like that and I'll undo all of your hard work in minutes."

"You promise?"

"I promise you'll look even more gorgeous afterwards, too." He picked up a fork and handed her the plate filled with food.

She rolled her eyes, not giving him the satisfaction of agreeing to _that._ "This looks amazing," she said as she picked up the cracker closest to her, tasting her first sample of the meal.

Tristan had started to fill his own plate, but stopped to watch her face as she took in the complex flavors of the prosciutto and Parmigiano Reggiano. He wondered if he would ever understand why she was so mesmerizing to him. It wasn't just with trying food either, every time she experienced something new her whole body demanded that she experience it to the fullest; every touch, taste, and feeling had to be acknowledged and recorded as if it needed to be reproduced or recalled later. It was similar to how he was as an artist; he had to capture every nuance, every sensation and record it so accurately that when the image was viewed later, it would evoke the exact same response. She was an artist of emotions.

 _Maybe that's why he was drawn to her, Evocative Ellie._

"Evocative Ellie," he said softly to himself, chuckling at the apt nickname.

"What did you say?" she asked, her mouth semi-full of the Spanish-style chorizo and herbed goat cheese.

"Nothing," he replied with a smile. "So, did you hear from your dad today? From his business contact?"

Ellie shook her head, this time self-consciously keeping her mouth shut until she finished chewing. "No, nothing yet. I'm sure I'll hear back this week though and then we'll see."

"Having second thoughts?" he asked, unable to help the excited pounding of his heart, wondering if she was reconsidering because she didn't want to leave him.

 _Not that he would ever let that happen now, and soon she would know it._

"Mmm," she moaned, finishing the last sip of her wine in lieu of answering.

"Any chance that instead of the world, there's something here more worth exploring?" His eyes locked in on hers, their bright green like a homing beacon always bringing him back to her.

She gave him a half-smile, one that wanted to, but didn't quite reach her eyes. "Well, there are definitely some things here that I can't seem to get away from, that is for sure." Her tease breaking up the seriousness in his question; her playful smile hiding the double meaning in her words.

"Touché." Mock offense entering his tone as he made his way around the island to stand in front of her. He leaned his face down next to hers to whisper, "So, you're trying to get away from me, are you?"

He felt her palm rest lightly on his chest, directly over his beating heart, as she replied, "Who said I was trying to?"

Tristan moved slightly so that he could again look her in the eyes, seeing in them the depth of emotion that he knew was reflected in his own. His lips moved dangerously close to hers, her eyes closing as she asked breathlessly, "So, where is my surprise?"

"Mmm, my greedy little siren, I'll show you your surprise," he said as he pulled back, a smile spreading over his face. The flushed look on her face, heated from alcohol and attraction, her heavy lids only partially covering her eyes, and her lips ever so slightly parted, just begging to be kissed – it was too much.

His hand reached around to grab the firm flesh of her ass, yanking her flush against him as his lips claimed hers. Her mouth opened beneath his, immediately welcoming his searching tongue as he squeezed the softness beneath his palm, pulling her hard against the painful ridge in his pants. She moaned in response, her hips flexing into his erection, igniting the fire in his veins. Her eagerness to lose herself in his kiss only fueled his raging desire, but not before one thought crossed his mind.

 _Whatever, or whomever, she was trying to get away from, was pushing her directly into his arms._

One thought tempered his lust out of concern for her. Gently breaking the kiss, he waited for her eyes to open before asking, "Is everything ok, Ellie?"

A startled expression came over her face for a moment, before it was replaced with a comforting smile, "Of course."

Tristan's eyes narrowed; he wasn't quite sure that he believed that, but he wouldn't push her, he would be whatever she needed.

"Well, in that case, I guess I can show you your surprise now."

"You mean this isn't it?" she taunted, biting the lower fullness of her delicious lips as she rolled her hips against his hard cock.

His eyes darkened, his hand grasped her palm and brought it to the front of his pants, hissing as he placed it firmly over his hot and incredibly hard erection that was begging for her naked touch. " _This,_ around you, is never a surprise; you should know that by now." He watched her eyes widen slightly just before her fingers firmed around him. Her subtle movement surprising him, Tristan couldn't help the groan that escaped his mouth before he, maybe a little too forcefully, yanked her delicious torture device from him. "Keep that up and you'll be in for a whole different night of surprises."

"I'm ok with that," was her eager response.

"I knew you would be, but I want to show you this," he said with a smile, his eagerness to show her the portrait he'd done of her was bone-deep. Turning, he refilled her wine glass before leading the way into the living room, coming to stand behind his easel that the drop-cloth had been draped over.

Pulling the fabric off of his masterpiece, he turned the easel around, this way he'd be able to see her reaction when she saw her own face.

"Oh, my God, Tristan…" she choked out, her hand coming up to cover her gasp, eyes wide with surprise and awe.

Tristan watched as she approached the canvas, her expression not dissimilar to the one he'd chosen to portray. It was the subtle synthesis of shock, happiness, and gratefulness – the look that said what he had just shown her would forever change her world, that would never get old.

"What do you think?" he asked, huskily, enjoying her speechless surprise.

"It's…incredible," she whispered, her other hand raising as if she wanted to reach out and touch the drawing, make sure that it was real.

"No," he said harshly, " _you,_ Ellie, _you_ are incredible." His eyes burned with the intense sincerity of his words, watching as she swallowed hard in acknowledgment, but it wasn't enough. "Say it. I want to hear you say it."

Her brows furrowed for a moment, as if she'd forgotten what he'd just said, before recognition broke over her face. He watched her intently, capturing her gaze and refusing to set it free until she complied. "I…" she began, hesitantly, taking a deep breath before trying again. "I am incredible."

A huge smile broke over his face, rewarding her for her breaking through her self-consciousness. "That's my girl."

"How did you…" She broke off again, trying to speak coherently from thoughts that were jumbled. "I can't believe you made this. I can't believe this is me, it's so beautiful. You did such an incredible job, Tristan. You truly have a gift for conveying exactly what you see."

He let out a soft laugh at her determined naiveté. "Ellie," he began as he set the canvas back down on the easel, rounding the stand to stand in front of her, his hands coming up to grasp her shoulders. "Art isn't about what you see, it's about what you make others see," he explained. His eyes bored into her, silently conveying the undeniable truth to his words. His hands slid gently up to cup her face, tilting her face up to his. "This was never about what I saw in you, it was about making you see _who you really are."_

Tristan watched the emerald spheres of her eyes enlarge, their color deepening as his words began to sink in. He waited patiently as she fought the insight that he'd just given her, the understand that she knew to be true. When the green in her eyes glistened like dew on a new spring leaf, Tristan knew that she'd finally let go; she'd finally let go of all of the negativity and self-doubt that she'd built up around her keeping herself down so that no one could take her there. Her dewy tears precipitated down her cheeks – the last vestiges of a self-deprecating armor evaporating into nothingness.

Her eyes washed clean, her gaze met his glowing with unabashed love. "Tristan, I love you," she murmured, rising up on her toes to touch her lips to his.

Powerful and possessive, his feelings for her exploded into every cell. He wanted to stop and tell her that he felt the same, to talk to her about whatever had happened in her past that had broken her. He had wanted to share this with her, to bare his soul to her through his art with the hopes that she would do the same. Now, though, those thoughts were burned from his mind – he just wanted her. Her words had doused him and her kiss had set him ablaze.

 _He'd captured her heart. Now, he would take her body and show her just how exquisite only he could make her feel._


	29. Chapter 28

Chapter 28

Even though her kiss had started out soft, a gentle seal of her love, as soon as Ellie's lips touched his, the world fell away, their mouths picking up where they'd left off earlier – devouring each other. His hands angled her head to give his tongue better access as her arms came around his waist, pulling herself tight against him. Their kiss went on, for how long Tristan wasn't sure. He finally pulled back to let them both breathe, their breaths coming in sharps gasps.

 _"Fuck, I want you so bad,"_ he huffed.

" _So, take me, Tristan,"_ she whispered back urgently. " _I want you to take me._ "

He groaned, his chest vibrating with the torture it was to pull himself away from her, barely about to bite out the words, " _Not yet, siren. It's your turn to show me something."_

"Anything," was her immediately response, indomitable emerald eyes meeting his.

A devilish smile spread over his face as his erection swelled even more painfully at the thought of what was to come.

Disentangling himself from her, he stepped back instructing her to, "Take off your clothes." Her eyes flared at the flagrant reminder of one of the first times that they had met, one of the first times their conversations had drifted into the sexual undertow of the waves of desire between them.

She didn't back down, pure confidence oozing from every pore of her. With a purposefully enticing slowness, she kicked off her heels, shimmying out of her jeans to reveal that her halter was actually a bodysuit. Pulling her mane of fire onto one shoulder, she undid the hook around the back of her neck, slowing bringing the halter straps down in front of her. Changing her grip, she pulled the fabric slowly over her breasts, revealing their hardened, rosy peaks and the fact that she hadn't been wearing a bra. The generous globes freed from their confines, now pointed at him, begging for attention.

 _Fuck._

This was so much harder than he thought it would be. Tristan labored his breathing on purpose, afraid any sudden movement would break the thin trance of restraint that had come over him watching her strip before him. He continued to deprive himself of oxygen as he watched her free her stomach from the tight fabric, his jaw clenching as it moved farther and farther down her body.

" _Fuck, Ellie,"_ he swore, turning around momentarily and moving back partially behind his easel.

 _She wasn't wearing underwear._

The realization had forced him to move, to put some sort of object between them. His lust purified the gold in his eyes turning it molten with immeasurable need.

"Sit on the couch," he barely bit out, watching every muscle of her flex as she moved to comply with his demand. When she sat, he moved to do the same, almost reaching his stool when he stood back up. " _Christ,"_ he swore, roughly undoing the front of his pants to make enough room for his engorged erection to rest in relative comfort when he tried to sit down again.

"Now what?" she asked huskily, a satisfied smile spreading over her face when she saw just how aroused she'd made him.

He glared at her, determined to make her just as tortured as he was. "Spread your legs." That surprised her, her eyes widening at his command, but she didn't question, not yet. When he reached down to grab a pencil and flipped to a blank sheet on his easel, that's when she spoke.

"What are you…" She trailed off, the rest of her question implied. He didn't answer her and she didn't make any move to close the perfect view that she'd given him of the pink, dewy petals resting between her thighs. His hand began to move frantically over the paper, capturing every evocative line.

He waited a few seconds, just until it looked like she was going to question him again, before he spoke. "Touch yourself. Like you did for me the other night on the phone. Close your eyes and touch yourself."

That had shocked her. Her hand moved to her stomach before she finally said, "I want you to touch me." Tristan bit his tongue so hard he tasted blood.

 _He wanted to touch her, God, how he wanted to, but he needed to see her pleasure herself._

Every night that he'd coached her masturbation, he'd burned with the desire to watch her pleasure herself, and tonight he was determined to have that satisfaction.

" _Touch yourself, Ellie,"_ he commanded again, his voice hard and unrelenting. "I need to see this; I've dreamt of it…for so many nights now." His confession was a little softer, a little more stricken with need, and she saw it written across his face. She captured his gaze as her hand slid slowly down off of her stomach and her fingers delved willingly into the folds below.

Tristan was physically vibrating with his need for her as he watched Ellie pleasure herself. At first, her fingers moved slowly, hesitantly over her slick folds, as he watched with eager anticipation. When she saw the effect it was having on him though, her entire demeanor changed. A sultry smile stole over her face, her gaze becoming hooded as she deliberately made a show of pleasuring herself.

"Are you enjoying this, siren?" Tristan tried to ask with a laugh, but it came out strangled, partially suffocated by his exponentially increasing desire for her.

Ellie sighed, "I am." Her tone had a hint of playfulness, but one that was quickly being overpowered by the pleasure that she was giving herself.

" _God,_ me too," he agreed, inhaling deeply as he tried to focus on drawing the evocative scene before him, watching as her attempt to torture himself began to backfire enjoyably. Her eyelids drifting further shut as her finger began to move with purpose and urgency, sliding through her folds and swirling over the sensitive jewel hidden beneath them.

Every time his eyes had to move back to the canvas in front of him was like a knife stabbing into him, the pain of removing his gaze from such a beautiful sight was piercing, but his yearning to capture it was too much.

"Tell me how you feel," he hoarsely requested, watching her fingers swirl over her clit.

Ellie moaned, her eyelids dropping almost closed before she answered, "On fire."

Tristan's fist clenched at his side, fighting the urge to go to her. "Put a finger inside of yourself," he continued with his demands, watching as she now eagerly complied, her need for release overcoming any last vestiges of self-conscious embarrassment.

He choked on his breath as he watched her forefinger slip easily inside of her passage. "All the way," he encouraged, as it disappeared completely for a second. " _Christ, you are so fucking evocative."_ Her finger slid back out to continue massaging her clit. "Tell me how you feel. _Tell me how it feels inside of you, my cock wants to know."_

Her mouth fell open slightly, sucking in air to gasp out a few short words. " _Wet. Tight. Hot."_ And then she lost all capability of coherent thought.

Her head tipped back to rest along the edge of the back of the settee, moaning against the onslaught of her own fingers. Her face angled so that if her eyes were open, she'd be looking up and out of the window wall of his apartment. Tristan drew frantically, seeing as her body was nearing closer to orgasm; her fingers circled faster, her toes were flexed and arched back – she was so close.

" _That's it, siren, feel yourself and let go. I want to see you come all over my couch,"_ he bit out, not even sure that she could hear or understand him anymore as her head began to move side to side.

Tristan drew her mouth as she bit down on her lip to try to stop the moan that escaped her anyway. His head was pounding from how hard he was clenching his jaw trying to restrain himself. As much as he wanted her, he wanted her to make herself feel beautiful even more; he wanted to capture the proof of that – that she didn't need anyone to make her feel gorgeous or wanted or desired, she was all of those things _on her own._

Ellie's mouth dropped open. " _Tristan."_ Her whisper floated across the room to him on the tide of her impending release. Her hips arched off of the couch, flexing underneath her fingertips as she led herself up and over the peak of her orgasm. It wasn't rushed or frantic or crazed with desire – _no, that would come later._ Her first release of the night brought a soft hum of electricity over all of her senses, awakening them for the pleasure that was to come.

Tristan groaned, feeling himself on the brink of release as he watched her body explode. He captured the last few lines before he couldn't focus anymore, the sight of her naked, flushed body, undulating as she rode out the waves of her orgasm became too much for him as he completely snapped his pencil in two from the force of his fist.

Dropping the broken stubs, he stood and walked towards the only thing in his tunnel vision. _Ellie._ She was still shaking against the couch, her breath coming in gasps as her now uncoordinated fingers tried to bring her back down gently. Tristan came to his knees before her, worshipping the sight before him.

Gently grabbing her wrist, he pulled her hand off of her slick center. Her head partially raised, her eyes attempting to open to see what was happened; she hadn't even realized that he'd left his stool. Bringing her fingers up to his mouth, he watched as her skin glistened with her juices under the dim lighting of the room. He grinned up at her, licking his lips before he put her forefinger completely into his mouth, cleaning every last drop of her orgasm off of her skin – a delicious starter to the evening.

She moaned, her eyes shutting again, as she shivered at his gentle touch, her body exquisitely sensitive – something that Tristan had every intention of taking advantage of. Pulling the last of her fingers from his mouth, he kissed the tip of it, before he gently intertwined his fingers with hers. He caught the drowsy smile provoked by his gentle caress before his eyes drifted down to his main course.

Her pink folds were swollen, glistening, and crying out for his attention. He'd never get tired of tasting her, he thought as his mouth descended on the treasure in front of him. Her hips shot up against his, a gasp accompanying her surprise as he set his tongue on her already sensitive flesh. It was her hand that first disengaged from their embrace to comb into his hair and pull him firmly against her. She'd just barely made it back down and now, he'd begun to build up her pleasure again, relentlessly teasing the swollen bud with his tongue, enjoying the rush of liquid flowing into his mouth at he brought her close to the edge.

His now free hand moved blindly up over the flexed plane of her stomach, cupping underneath her breast, his fingers immediately finding her erect nipple, mimicking the swirl and pull of his tongue further down.

He stopped his torture, pulling back barely from her pussy, he asked her, "what do you want, Ellie?"

" _Mmm…Tristan, please,"_ she begged.

" _Tell me what you want and I'll give it to you, siren,"_ he promised.

" _Please,"_ she moaned again, her head thrashing back and forth, " _you know…"_

" _Do you want to feel alive?"_

 _"No,"_ she whispered.

" _Tell me what you want."_

 _"You. I want you."_ Her words rushed out before she lost the capability of saying them. " _I want you to make me feel alive."_

Tristan smiled to himself, hearing her verbalize her need for him. He gently pulled her clit between his teeth and then sucked hard.

" _Tris…"_ Ellie tried to gasp out his name, begging for more, but her body was so strung up that she couldn't even get both syllables out.

It didn't matter, Tristan knew what she needed. He pushed two fingers inside of her, as he tugged hard on the center of her desire, feeling her come hard around them as she let out a scream. He drank down her release, the taste of her fulfilled desire pushing him over the edge.

" _Evocative Ellie,_ that's what I called you," he admitted as he kissed her slick center over and over. Removing his finger, he placed one more open-mouthed kiss over her still-vibrating core, finally giving into his raging desire. " _I can't be gentle, Ellie. I need you too fucking bad,"_ he ground out as he rose up onto his knees, shoving down his already-opened pants and boxers over his engorged erection.

Her eyes barely cracked open just as Tristan rammed himself to the hilt inside of her, cursing at the exquisite feel of her tight and still contracting passage around him. Ellie's gasp turned into a moan at the intrusion, her body not fully recovered from her last orgasm, it momentarily revolted at the threat of a new passionate onslaught, unsure if it had the strength to come again.

" _You got this, gorgeous,"_ he encouraged her, pulling himself almost completely out of her, leaving just the swollen, sensitive head of his penis still inside of her before thrusting himself easily back in of her incredibly wet core. " _Just one more…for me…siren…"_ His unrestrained groans following each statement. His body glistened with sweat, the pressure of holding off his release for so long, and now prolonging it to match with hers, threatened to make his heart burst with the effort.

Tristan saw his vision start to go black and his breathing became labored. He'd pushed himself to the very edge of restraint and now, all his body knew to do was push in and out of the pleasure-laden passage squeezing his cock. Her hips began to rise to meet his thrusts and he knew that he had won. He drove into her with abandon, no longer having the capacity to judge just how close she was to her orgasm; he just prayed that she was close.

His torso collapsed onto her, completely losing the strength to remain upright. Both his hands moved to stabilize her hips as he took her. Somehow, his face felt out the swell of her breast, capturing its erect peak in his mouth. Ellie arched her back, pressing deeper into his mouth, her need for him rising frantically to match his.

" _Tristan!"_ his name erupting from her lips was like accelerant on the desire in his blood and he couldn't hold on any longer.

He bit down on the swollen bud, sucking hard on the pleasure-point that he'd captured in his mouth, praying that it would take her with him. Her frenzied response was lost on him as he thrust uncontrollably into her, just barely recognizing the familiar and satisfying spasms of her muscles around his erection as his orgasm finally overtook him. His back arched away from her. He shouted her name as his hips pushed to bury his erupting cock deep inside of her, coating her with the torrents of his release.

He hadn't been sure, but his orgasm had sparked hers, the beginnings of which he had felt, but the final thrust and hearing Tristan call out her name as he completely lost control, sent Ellie soaring off over the edge once more. This time, her orgasm electrified her body; every cell, every muscle flexed, she gasped in air that her lungs had been denied, her hands gripped his shoulders, and her eyelids flew open, her head falling back over the edge of the couch. As her body shattered around her, her eyes stared out the windows seeing stars in a completely cloud-covered sky.


	30. Chapter 29

Chapter 29

Ellie moaned against the softness of the pillow under her head. She was dreaming and it felt so good. Pieces of last night invaded her mind – her pleasuring herself, Tristan pleasuring her, his hands, his mouth... _him._ She must have been dreaming about them all night, she thought, moaning again as she relived the sensations, because her body quickly and easily spiraled up and tumbled her off the welcoming cliff of an early morning orgasm. The pleasure searing through her, awakened her fully, her eyes opening to her surroundings.

 _Tristan's apartment. Tristan's bed. Tristan._

It hadn't been a dream, she realized as her hips gently rocked against the soft, expert movements of his fingers between her thighs, tenderly bringing her back down from the orgasm that they'd led her to.

"Tristan…" she whispered, her eye glazed with passion looked back over her shoulder to meet his gold-foil gaze and satisfied smile.

"Ellie." He gently bit into her shoulder that had ended up right in front of him.

"Good morning," she continued to whisper, biting her lower lip as the last waves of her orgasm subsided.

When his smile deepened, she knew she was in trouble. Feeling his hand leave her core and move to her hip, he pulled her onto her back as he climbed on top of her. "Almost…" he replied, bending her one leg as his heavy erection slipped easily inside of her. Ellie gasped at the welcome and warm invasion, the sensation of completeness traveling through her body.

He took advantage of her pleasure, capturing her open mouth for his tongue to delve inside. Their mouths dueled as his hips began to pump into her. Slowly and languorously at first, coaxing her body back up to the peak it had just climbed. Ellie moaned into him, feeling the intense pressure building inside of her again. Her arms came around his neck as her legs raised to encircle his waist, allowing him to fill her more deeply with each thrust. Her enthusiasm broke his unhurried quest for release. She felt his groan reverberate against her chest as one of his hands slid up to firmly knead her breast. His fingers playing dangerously with its hardened peak.

Her fingers flexed in his hair. Her hips now thrust up to meet his, uncontrollably searching for the climax that she'd just come back from. Lust had overtaken him, too. She felt him mindlessly plunge into her, over and over again, until the friction between them was too much and Ellie felt herself flying off that familiar cliff, screaming Tristan's name. Seconds later, she felt his body go stiff on top of hers, he groaned as his warm release filled her. She floated back down in the pleasure-laden clouds of her climax, drifting back into the reality that was this golden god, collapsed on top of her.

Their labored breathing returning in sync back down to slow, steadying breaths. The blood that pumped hot and furiously through their bodies, now calmed to a steady stream of oxygen back to their starving cells.

"Now that, is a good morning," she felt him whisper into her ear, gently biting and tugging on her earlobe. She smiled, turning her head towards his, and gently kissed him. "Don't do that gorgeous," he groaned against her softly sweet assault, "I need to let you out of this bed sometime today, and already I want to have you again. Don't tempt me any further."

Her eyes widened slightly at him, and he flexed his hips into her again in response, letting her feel the still very firm part of him buried deep inside of her.

"If you insist," she teased, purposefully clenching her inner muscles around him, enjoying the tortured groan that responded.

" _Siren,"_ he growled, suddenly pulling himself from her body, forcing himself out of his bed before he took her again. "You need to eat," was his clipped justification.

Ellie just looked up at him, her seductive sage eyes teasing him to come back to bed. "Are you sure? I think I'm ok for a little while longer…" It was clear that one orgasm wasn't enough, his erection hanging heavy, protruding from between his legs, pointing and begging to be back inside of her.

" _Christ,_ woman, you are trying to kill me," he laughed, rubbing his hand over his mouth, seriously contemplating her offer. "I'm making you food first, then I'll decide how I want to handle you."

Ellie just smiled at him, snuggling deeper underneath the covers, planning to wait it out. Tristan shook his head at her and stalked out into the kitchen, determined to make good on his word.

Ellie sighed into the pillow, glancing out the window to see dreary, overcast, and stormy skies.

 _It was the perfect day to stay in bed, what was he thinking?_

Turning her face upwards, Ellie crossed her arms over her chest, holding the comforter fast against her. She stared at the ceiling, trying to remember the last time she was so happy. Her heart fluttered at the thought of last night – everything had been incredible.

 _His touch, his kiss, his drawing…_

Her breath caught as the memories surrounding the first part of their night flooded back to her.

 _The drawing._

His drawing of her had been incredible and it reminded her of the last time she'd been this happy – also because of Tristan.

 _That was why she'd told him she loved him._

 _She loved him._

She loved Tristan and _that_ was what made her feel alive. And she'd told him. Her body flushed for a whole different reason. Nervousness hummed through her. She remembered the exhilaration the moment that she'd confessed, the relief and release she'd experienced the moment the words had left her lips. It had been a bigger weight off her chest than the other secret that she was still kept locked away. One secret had saved her and her happiness, and the other might destroy it.

 _She couldn't…wouldn't think about that now. She had another day left._

Blinking back the film of moisture in her eyes, she thought back to her portrait, to her love for Tristan and everything that he had changed in her. The sound of him rummaging in the kitchen spurred her to move. She sat up in bed, a new fear consuming her: He hadn't told her he loved her back.

 _What if he didn't feel the same? What if he didn't love her?_

No. Well, it was possible, but she had seen the way he had looked at her when she'd whispered those three little words.

 _It was the same way he always looked at her._

Which meant that he'd either loved her for a while now, or he never did. Ellie refused to believe the latter. No, she wouldn't be cancer and heartbreak in the same week – she refused. This was where she put her foot down, she wouldn't lose her life and her love.

Throwing off the covers, she stood up quickly from the bed, partially tipping over into the nightstand as blood rushed from her head. Thankfully, she managed to catch the lamp before it tumbled onto the floor.

"You ok in there, gorgeous?" Tristan yelled with a laugh from the kitchen, hearing the commotion.

"Yeah!" she yelled back even though it took her a second to regain her balance.

 _Wow, it had never been this bad before._

Walking carefully over to the bench at the bottom of the bed, she picked up her purse, pulling out her medication from inside. Dropping the two pills into her hand, she tossed them back, grabbing the water bottle off of Tristan's nightstand to wash them down.

Shaking her head, she glanced down at her naked body, her hands trying to tame her hair over her shoulder, even though she had no mirror to truly assess its wildness. With a seductive smile on her face, she strode out into the common area, no longer bothered or embarrassed by the windows or her nakedness – granted, the rain had just started to come down, obscuring any view inside; it didn't matter, rain or shine, her golden god was out there, just waiting to be shown exactly why he loved her.

"Tristan," Ellie murmured coyly as she moved into the room.

His head turned, eyes doing a double-take at the realization that she was naked, in his wide-open apartment without a care in the world.

"Ellie," he drawled slowly, whatever he'd been doing completely forgotten.

"I was wondering," she began as she walked back over towards his easel, her hips swaying seductively, teasing him with her sculpted ass, "if you might be able to help me."

"With what?" he asked hoarsely, unable to take his eyes off of her. Knowing she had his attention, she bent down to examine the sketch he'd done last night of her pleasuring herself in front of him.

"This is so fascinating," she murmured, looking at how he'd captured the moment just before her orgasm, her face alight with the promise of pleasure, her hand greedily bringing herself to fulfillment.

"It was more than that," his deep voice rasped, his eyes beginning to flicker gold with uncontrolled lust.

 _God, she loved hearing his need for her in his voice._

"I was wondering…" she began again, turning to walk slowly back towards him. Ellie let her hand slowly raise to her bare breast, her fingers beginning to trace lazy circles around her engorged nipple. "I was wondering if you could help me in the shower," she finally finished, coming to stand right in front of him, a brilliant smile spreading over her face when she saw how painfully erect he was. He didn't move a muscle as she leaned in to whisper, "There are some places that I just can't… quite… reach."

He groaned, clenching the spatula in his hand, but didn't respond.

 _Oh, this was fun._

Her hand began to drift south, his eyes locked on it as her fingers moved down over her stomach. "I mean, I guess I could try to reach them," her husky whisper continued, as her fingers disappeared into her folds, "on my own."

Ellie let her eyes drift shut as she moaned, but Tristan still didn't break.

 _Fine, let him suffer in wonder._

She pulled her fingers from herself, and placed the tips onto his lower lip. His gaze seared into her, burning her for torturing him this way. His mouth opened of its own volition, taking her moist fingertips into his mouth, groaning as he pulled her taste from them.

 _And then, he was hers._

Ellie felt him bite the tip of her finger just before the spatula crashed to the ground and she felt herself hoisted up and over Tristan's shoulder as he carried her out of the kitchen.

" _You're a fucking torture device, do you know that?"_ he asked harshly as his hand came up to not-so-playfully smack her ass, his hand staying to rest on the firm flesh. " _But I'll take this torture every damn day, siren."_ He finished his statement as his fingers drifted down and pushed into her exposed entrance.

Ellie gasped at the unexpected invasion, the sensation intensified by her upside-down position hanging over his back. Blood rushed to her head and to her core as he teased her all the way into the bathroom, stopping only to turn the shower on full blast. He flipped her back over and lightheadedness overwhelmed her. Her head lulled to the side and she probably would have passed out if he hadn't still been holding her.

 _Thank God, he'd continued to hold her in front of him and was too distracted with getting them in the shower to notice her momentary faintness._

When her lucidness came back a second or two later, Ellie hooked her legs around Tristan's waist, trying to secure herself to him even more. He groaned as the movement put the tip of his erection directly up against her soaking entrance. Moving them both into the scalding stream from the shower, he took her mouth again pulling her hips firmly against his.

Ellie moaned as the hot water hit her back, her body temperature rising even farther; she almost felt dizzy again, but it might have been from her desire.

" _I love when you lose control,"_ she pulled back from their kiss to whisper, watching his eyes spark at her words. She gasped when he responded by pushing her back up against the cold tile of the shower. The hot water, the cool stones, and the burning desire between them quickly confused her already overwhelmed body.

" _I love when I lose control inside of you,_ " he punctuated his words by thrusting completely inside of her. " _Is this what you wanted, siren?"_

 _"Yes, Tristan,"_ she moaned, her head tipping back against the hard wall.

 _"I love making you lose control,"_ he continued as he began to pump into her, pleasure quickly and intensely suffusing through every cell. " _And I love watching you and feeling you come around my cock."_ Ellie moaned his name again, all semblance of rational thought gone. She let the sensations completely overtake her, her mind drifting, her vision blurring – everything seemed to fade except the feeling of Tristan inside of her. Her hips moved to meet his on their own, instinctively and more rhythmically than her breathing.

 _Her body no longer cared about oxygen, it cared about Tristan._

He pushed into her over and over again, building up the inevitable explosion barely contained inside of her. She wanted to look at him, she thought she was looking at him, except everything was black. _Her eyes must be closed_ , she thought, even as the back of her mind registered her eyelids blinking _._ Ellie couldn't focus on that, or anything, anymore. Her moans grew louder and louder as her body followed his lead. She felt his thrusts become more furious, pounding into her as his release was almost upon him. The feel of each water drop bursting onto her skin, his hard length pushing all the way through her folds, the friction against her clit, the burst of fire as the tip of his cock touched the exquisitely sensitive spot deep inside of her – it was more than enough to make her feel alive, and it was more than enough to make her come.

Ellie screamed his name as the sweet explosion of her orgasm erupted over her. Her body convulsed against him, feeling as the contractions of her release stimulated his. Her body was being showered on from every direction, the hot water on the outside and the warm flood of his orgasm pouring inside of her. She saw circles of color bursting behind her eyelids just before everything went completely black for a few moments. Ever so slowly, she came back down from the heaven he'd taken her to, realizing that those color spots hadn't been behind her eyelids, they'd been in her vision – her vision that had gone dark because of dizziness, and black because she'd fainted for a moment.

She felt Tristan panting against her shoulder, " _I love…"_ he began, trailing off as Ellie held her breath, praying she stayed lucid enough to hear what was next, " _how exquisitely unpredictable and evocative you are."_ He finished his sentence with his next drawn in breath, still trying to slow his racing heart. Ellie smiled, a small laugh escaping her as she let her head tip forward to rest on his shoulder; her body fluttered at the compliment, but her heart constricted in disappointment.

 _She knew that he loved her. She felt it every time he looked at her, every time he touched her, every time he drew her. She knew it deep down inside of her; her belief as strong as her desire for him._

Her vision, her head, had almost returned to normal as Tristan pulled out of her, gently lowering her to stand. Handing her a washcloth, he shot her a satisfied grin as he began to wash himself. Ellie made no move to…well, move. Using the tile wall for support, she stayed propped up against it, trying to normalize everything that seemed to be going haywire in her body right now. Thankfully, her eyes appeared glazed over from pleasure instead of from partial hypoxia. Thankfully, she looked like she was relaxing up against the wall, enjoying the show, instead of the reality that she felt so weak and tipsy, she wasn't sure she'd be able to stand on her own.

 _She was still enjoying the show though._

"Alright, I'll stop hogging the water now and get back to the breakfast that I was interrupted from making," he teased, "I hope you like burnt pancakes."

"I'm sorry," she replied, her tone and smile indicating that she really wasn't.

"Mmm." He put both hands on either side of her head, covering her body with his again. "Don't ever be sorry. You know," he paused, his hand moving to cup the heavy weight of her breast, "I'd rather eat you for breakfast anyway."

"That can be arranged."

"Insatiable Ellie," he laughed, even though desire flared in his eyes again, "that's what your new nickname is." He dropped his head to tenderly kiss her lips before turned and stepping out of the shower.

The rush of cool air that he had let in by opening the shower door shivered some life into her body. Ellie used the few moments of clarity to quickly wash before the heat of the shower made her head start to feel fuzzy again. Shutting off the water, she opened the door to release the steam, her body again rocketed from extreme heat to extreme cold as she grabbed the towel hung over the door and began to dry off.

Again, the moment of lucidity fooled her into complacency as she reached down to begin toweling off her feet and legs. Blood rushed to her head and she felt herself start to wobble, quickly putting her hand on the floor, hidden by the towel, to steady herself.

 _Deep breaths. Just stand back up and wait for him to leave so you can sit down._

With a nice long inhale, she straightened back up, abiding by the voice inside of her head.

 _Big mistake._

Just as quickly the blood rushed back down from her head, from her brain and every sensory center it contained that was crucial to keeping her stable and upright.

 _It was happening again and there was nothing she could do to stop it this time._

No breathing, no tricks, no wall, no Tristan…nothing could stop what was about to happen. The next few seconds passed in slow motion. The room began to wobble and disappear around her. Only Tristan, pulling on a pair of sweats, managed to stay in her quickly diminishing cone of focus.

 _No, no, no._

Her mouth became dry. Her stomach rolled with nausea, even though she knew she'd be passed out on the floor well before she would actually throw up. She couldn't feel her legs or arms, or if she was even still holding her towel.

 _Not now. Please._

She begged and prayed, she didn't want him to find out like this. She tried to suck in deep breaths in an attempt to prevent her body's over reactive response, but it was already too late. Her anxiety rose, her heartbeat pounded in her chest, knowing what was about to happen. She tried to look around for something to grab onto. There was no bar on the shower, there was no rod for the towels, there was only the countertop with the sink, but that was behind Tristan – she would never make it. The only thing left was the cupboard that held the clean towels and washcloths, and even that was a good two whole steps away.

She should just sit on the ground, put her head between her legs and wait for it to pass. _But, if she could just reach the shower door she could lean against it long enough for Tristan to leave the room so that he wouldn't have to see that anything was wrong._

She couldn't feel them, but she forced her brain to tell her legs to move. And move they did, clumsily, out from underneath her. She didn't feel them give way, only her limited vision in front of her clued her in that she was falling, Tristan rapidly rising through her frame of view. She couldn't really see him anymore, only the outline of him as the lightheadedness got worse.

"Tristan," she slurred, rapidly losing consciousness, barely catching his attention as he was about to walk out the door. She was falling, hard and fast; now, all she could hope was that he would get there in time to save her. She said the only thing that remained brightly in focus in her mind. "I love you…"

 _I'm sorry._

This time, she wouldn't know if he said it back or not because the rest of her vision, the rest of the world went black. She vaguely heard Tristan say her name as she felt her body jerk – whether he caught her or she hit something, she didn't know and couldn't feel. She hoped he'd caught her as she slipped out of consciousness and into the darkness that finally consumed her.

He'd just finished pulling on his sweats, when he heard Ellie mumble his name. He hadn't thought anything of it, until he glanced up and saw the vacant look in her eyes a second before she started to go down. Cursing, he'd lunged for her, catching her just a second too late as her head smacked into the glass door of the shower, shattering it into the stall. Even though he'd caught her before she'd fallen onto the glass shards below, his heart had stopped and he wasn't sure it had started up again yet.

He carried her back into the bedroom and laid her on the bed, trying to ignore the streaks of red on his sheets that weren't from her hair. She was completely unconscious.

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck._

His mind frantic, he searched for his phone, finding it on the kitchen counter he dialed nine-one-one.

"What's your emergency?" the operator asked.

"I need an ambulance. My girlfriend passed out and hit her head; she's bleeding pretty badly." He tried to speak objectively, but his voice was thick with pure fear.

"Ok, sir, is she breathing? Has she regained consciousness?" the woman asked as Tristan walked back into the bedroom, his gut wrenching, seeing his Ellie laying lifeless in the bed.

"Yes, she's breathing, but no, she's still unconscious."

"Ok, an ambulance will be there shortly."

Tossing the phone on the nightstand, he knelt by her side, frantically pushed the hair off of her face, trying to rouse her.

"Ellie, gorgeous," he said softly, "are you ok? Please wake up."

 _Nothing._

" _Fuck,"_ he swore, " _please fucking wake up Ellie. You are scaring the shit out of me right now, siren."_

Moving her head to the side, he saw the nasty gash from the shower door on the left side of her head, blood still flowing vigorously from it. He stalked into the bathroom searching for a clean washcloth.

Returning to her side, he begged her again, " _Christ, Ellie, don't do this to me, please."_ He felt a tear slip down his cheek as he pressed the cloth to wound on her head, applying pressure to try and stop the bleeding. As he pushed, he thought he heard her moan softly.

" _That's it, siren, just come back to me."_ His voice choked with emotion. " _Just come back to me, Ellie, I love you so fucking much."_ He laughed scornfully at himself as the tears rolled faster, thunder booming in the background; the storm raging outside of the windows like the one about to break open inside of him. " _I love you, siren._ "

The pounding on the door was almost as loud as the thunder outside. Quickly wrapping a sheet over her, Tristan rushed to the door to let the EMS in.

"You called for an ambulance?" the EMT asked.

"Yes, she's still unconscious, I think, in the bedroom; this way…" Tristan led the paramedics into his apartment, wheeling in the gurney behind them. He walked into the room and expected to see Ellie sitting up in bed, biting her lip nervously, afraid that she'd done something wrong. His chest squeezed when he saw that she hadn't moved an inch. He walked into the room first, his body tensing as they moving next to her body to assess her vitals.

"Airway seems fine. BP is low, but steady. Nasty gash on her head, though, let's get a neck brace," the lead paramedic instructed. Tristan made a move forward, determined to be the one to lift her onto the stretcher, when he felt a hand on his arm.

"Sir, let us do this please," the EMT said. "She's had head trauma, we need to stabilize her neck and lift her carefully."

His jaw clenched, but Tristan nodded in assent, watching as they put a brace around her neck before they moved her carefully onto the gurney. Grabbing his phone from the nightstand and his keys off of the counter, he followed right next to her as they headed for the elevator.

"Are you her husband?" the other paramedic asked as they entered the elevator.

"No. Not yet," Tristan replied tightly, watching the floor levels quickly tick by.

"Ok, well I'm afraid you won't be able to ride in the ambulance with us. You'll have to meet us at the hospital."

"I'm not leaving her," he replied harshly, fist clenching prepared for a fight.

 _He hated ambulances. The last one he'd been in had taken him with his mom to the hospital before she died. He hated everything about ambulances and hospitals, but there was no fucking way that Ellie was getting in one without him in there with her._

"Sir, I'm sorry," the EMT huffed as the elevator doors opened and they began to wheel her through the lobby of the building, "but you aren't a family member. Legally, I can't let you in the ambulance."

"What the fuck—" Tristan began to yell at the guy as they hoisted Ellie into the back of the ambulance, but he stopped on seeing her face; anger was not going to get him what he needed. "Please, I need to stay with her. She's all I have."

The paramedic sighed, putting his hand over his mouth. "Ah, fuck it. Get in, but if anyone asks, you're related."

Tristan just nodded, too grateful to speak, as he climbed in beside his muse, taking hold of her hand as they shut the doors behind him. His blood pressure rising as his body fought to keep thoughts of his past at bay. His eyes stayed trained on the woman in front of him, keeping her front-and-center in his mind.

"You're going to be ok," he whispered to her has he rubbed the back of her hand gently with his, "everything is going to be ok."

This time, he was sure he heard her moan. His gut wrenched at the thought of her in pain. "Ell, can you hear me?" Unable to stop the hope bubbling up inside of him.

She moaned again.

He pulled her hand up to his mouth, kissing the back of it, asking her again, "can you hear me gorgeous?" His heart began to beat again when he felt her lightly squeeze his hand, and as quickly as it happened, she was gone again; her hand resting limply in his. "You're going to be ok," he said again.

 _Are you telling that to her or yourself?_

He laughed softly, knowing he was only reassuring himself. Ellie was probably thinking to herself, 'of course, I'm going to be ok, do you think you can get rid of me that easily?' She was a fighter, and she would definitely be teasing him right now. How did he know? Because it would be the most unexpected, unpredictable thing for her to do.

 _Everything about her was unpredictable, including the way that she had stolen his heart. Just be ok, gorgeous, so I can tell you how exquisitely in love with you I am._


	31. Chapter 30

_Hey everyone! Hope you are enjoying the story so far! I love hearing all of the thoughts you've been sending me along the way. We are just a few short chapters away from the end of Tristan and Ellie's story, so buckle up because they are wild, but wonderful! Once we get to that heartwarming moment, I would appreciate it beyond words if you could share your review of my book on Amazon - you do_ _not_ _have to have purchased the book to do so :) I'm just really trying to get myself out there and I know other potential readers would love to hear your opinion too! It would mean the world to me! Thanks again and enjoy! xx, Rebecca_

Chapter 30

Tristan paced inside the waiting room. Even though the paramedics had been sympathetic, when they'd gotten to the emergency room the hospital staff had been unwaveringly strict about only family member's being allowed back with her while she was being treated for her injuries. So, he paced, and then he called Sloane, needing to hear the man's chronically calm voice.

"Hello?"

"I'm at the hospital."

"Wait what? What's going on?"

"Ellie," Tristan choked out, taking a second to find the words that he needed, "I don't know what's wrong. One minute she was fine, the next she passed out."

"Ok, did she come right back?"

"She passed out into my shower door and her head shattered the damn thing," he ground out, trying to block the memory of her lifeless body falling, the sound of her head crashing into the glass, the sight of her blood all over his bed.

"Shit," Sloane said softly. "Is she ok? What have they done?"

"I have no fucking idea. They won't let me back there because I'm not family." His fist flexed at his side, wanting to punch whomever it was that came up with that rule.

"Ah…what the fuck," Sloan sighed, "what can I do? You want me to come there?"

"No, I'm fine." That was an obvious lie. "I just needed to do something, talk to someone before I fucking punched a wall. I'm going crazy waiting for someone to tell me what the fuck happened."

"How long has she been back there?"

"An hour and a half."

"Well, syncope is a pretty easy fix, at least until they figure out the underlying cause. It sounds like she just bumped her head and knocked herself out."

"I don't know. There was a lot of blood; it looked pretty deep."

"Head wounds usually look worse than they are. I'm sure she'll be fine, Tris. I mean, to put up with you, she's got to have a pretty thick skull," Sloane responded, trying to lighten the mood.

"Nice," he replied, appreciating his friend's attempt at humor, but physically unable to appropriately respond to the joke. His eyes jerked towards the double doors as the nurse who escorted Ellie's gurney back walked through them. The woman began to approach him, "I gotta go," he said into the phone, not even waiting for Sloane's response before hanging up.

"Mr. Black?"

"Yes, that's me," he replied anxiously. "How is she?"

"She's awake, and she's asking for you," the nurse replied with a tight smile.

"Can I see her? Do they know what happened?" he asked urgently.

"Yes, come with me," the nurse motioned for him to follow her as she continued to update him. "Well, right now the doctors believe that it was just the fall and the bump to her head that is really what kept her out for so long. The gash was pretty bad, so she has a few stitches, but other than that her brain is fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," the nurse sighed, "we took a CT scan and an MRI as soon as she got here and the results came back normal. It was just a good bump and a deep cut – she'll be just fine."

"But, why did she pass out?"

"Well, that we are still waiting on. She just woke up, so I believe the doctor should probably be in there with her by now, if not very shortly. We took blood and it's being tested but we won't know the results for a little while. She just kept asking for you, Mr. Black, which is why I'm bringing you back here even though you aren't related," the nurse explained. "Does she have any family that we should call? That she would want us to call?"

 _Fuck._

"Yes, her father. His name is Jack Carter and I can get you his number," Tristan pulled out his phone, scrolling through to Morgan's email where he'd sent him all of Jack's information. Taking the pen and clipboard from the nurse, he wrote down the information just as they got to Ellie's room.

"Thank you," the nurse said, "you can go in. She just woke up and we have her on a couple of medications right now so just take it easy with her, she's still a little out of it." She turned and left him at the door, probably to go and call Ellie's dad. Tristan just stared through the glass panel for a second.

 _She didn't look awake._

Fear gripped him as he gripped the door handle. It looked like the doctor hadn't been in yet, because she was alone and sleeping in the room. She looked so peaceful laying there. They'd cleaned her face, and her hair to a certain extent, from the blood although the hair on the left side of her head was messy because of the bandage that they'd put over where they had stitched her. Tristan stepped into the room, closing the door gently behind him.

 _God, he hated seeing her like this. He hated this – feeling helpless. She was hurt and there was nothing he could do about it. The panic that gripped him was the same one he'd felt the day his mother had died, seeing her suffer and knowing that nothing he did, said, or felt could change it. Only today, it had been a thousand times worse. He couldn't lose her, he loved her too much to lose her._

The soft click of the door shutting stirred her and Tristan let the breath go that he'd been holding.

 _She was awake; she was going to be ok._

Ellie groaned; the one side of her head was killing her. She heard noises around her, people talking, and then silence for a while. The sound of a door opening and closing had woken her again, though.

 _Why was her head killing her?_

She tried to pull up the last thing that she remembered, but it was so painful. Even though her brain protested against the onslaught, she forced her heavy eyelids open, determined to figure out just what was going on.

The bright light from the room seared through her head, the pain bringing tears to her eyes. She shut them quickly and almost gave up when she heard it – when she heard him.

"Ellie? Gorgeous? Are you in there?" She heard Tristan's soft and strained voice moving closer to her. "Can you hear me? Can you open your eyes?"

 _For him, she could do anything._

Steeling herself for the pain, she slowly opened her gaze to the invasion of light. The room a blur for a second until her eyes adjusted, allowing her surroundings to come into focus – allowing Tristan to come into focus.

"Hey there, siren," he rasped, a relieved smile spreading over his face, one hand coming up to cup her cheek, the other still holding her hand that was in her lap, attached to the IV.

 _Oh, no._

Her eyes widened, panic setting in as she realized her surroundings. The IV, the bed, the room.

 _She was in the hospital._

"What—" she began, breaking off to cough from her throat being so dry. Tristan grabbed the cup of ice water on the table next to the bed and held the straw up for her to drink from. The cold water an icy salve on rough lining of her throat. "Sorry," she tried again, still raspy, but better. "What happened?"

"You don't… of course, you don't," Tristan laughed to himself. "I'm not entirely sure what happened. One minute you were fine getting out of the shower, or at least, I think you were. The next I hear you say my name, I look over and see your eyes roll back in your head and you start to fall over. I went to catch you, which I did before you hit the ground, but not before your head slammed into the shower door and shattered it."

"Oh, no, Tristan. I'm so sorry," she managed to get out, embarrassment flooding her as her hand gingerly raised to feel the side of her head.

"Don't, you have stitches," he interjected harshly, clenching his jaw and pausing to calm himself, "And don't you dare apologize to me, gorgeous. I don't give a fuck about my shower door." His hand returned to her cheek, making sure her gaze stayed locked with his. "I don't care about the goddamn door, all I care about is you. Got it?"

She swallowed hard and painfully, nodding at the intensity of his words.

" _Fuck,"_ he murmured, bringing his face down to hers and kissing her dry lips ever so tenderly. "You scared me so bad, siren." He kept kissing her, relief palpable in every touch.

Ellie melted right into him, the throbbing in her head completely forgotten as his lips comforted hers. He was here, she would be ok.

"Everything is fine; you're going to be just fine," he continued to whisper. The pad of his thumb rubbed over her cheek, his words seeping into her skin, a balm over the stress of the moment. "They're just running a few more tests to figure out why you passed out and then I'm going to get you out of here, ok? _God,_ you scared me so badly, sweetheart. I l—"

His words cut off short as she jerked her head back away from his, her eyes shot open, bile rising up her throat. She knew what he was about to say, but it was too late; what he had already said put her on high alert.

 _Why she passed out? She knew why she passed out. She needed to tell Tristan. She needed to talk to the doctor –._

Tristan looked at her with confusion in his eyes, about to ask what was clearly wrong when they both heard someone clear their throat from the doorway. The moment was cut short as they realized the doctor had come into the room.

"Sorry to interrupt," he said, as Tristan moved away from her, giving her a clear view of the older gentlemen who was speaking. "Ellie, I'm Dr. Marks. Glad to see you've come around, you did quite a number on your head there." He introduced himself a compassionate smile lighting his face.

"Yes, I…ahh…I guess so," she replied sheepishly, still struggling to remember all of the details of the incident. She felt Tristan squeeze her hand reassuringly.

 _At least he hadn't let go._

"Not to worry, aside from some stitches and a lump on your head for a few days, everything on the scans checked out and you should be fully recovered in no time."

"Wonderful, thank you so much," Ellie thanked him, praying that he wouldn't continue on about the reason for her fainting while Tristan was in the room.

 _Unless, because he was in the room, Dr. Marks assumed he was family._

"Now that you're back with us, I was wondering if I could go over some questions about your medical history with you since we weren't able to get that information from you when you got here." The smile he gave her sunk like a stone of dread into the pit of her stomach. "Syncope is not uncommon and can happy because of a variety of reasons, some very simple and harmless, others more serious and worth exploring. I want to make sure that you don't leave her with a bigger issue unresolved. I think the best place for me to start is to ask you if you have any idea why you passed out?"

"Of course," she smiled weakly, feeling the tears start to well in her eyes. "Well, I think it was a combination of things. I had just gotten out of the shower, so I remember being very warm and I know…umm…that well, my heartrate was up just before." She paused, heat flushing her cheeks as she glanced quickly at Tristan, the doctor getting the gist of what she was saying. "So, there was all that."

"She also hadn't eaten anything all morning," Tristan interjected.

"Yes, that too. But, I think it was mostly caused by the medications that I'm taking." She tried again to swallow the lump in her throat, feeling like she was about to vomit. "They have changed over the past few weeks and I've been having similar instances of dizziness and nausea; this time was just worse because of the other factors."

She met Dr. Mark's gaze, taking a deep breath, hearing in her mind his next question before his lips even began to move.

"And what medications are you taking?"

"I was recently placed back on maintenance therapy doses of vincristine and prednisone." She kept her gaze focused on the doctor, watching Tristan's perplexed stare only in her periphery. She didn't expect him to know what those drugs were for.

 _Maybe prednisone, but it didn't matter because he was about to find out._

"I see," Dr. Marks responded, his face softening even more as he heard her words. "And, how long were you in remission before they decided to put you back on those meds?"

At the word 'remission', Ellie felt Tristan's hand go slack around hers. The "r" word only even accompanied the "c" word. "Almost a year," she replied, quietly.

"And what type of cancer do you have?"

"Recurrent acute lymphoblastic leukemia. I had it twice," Ellie responded, her voice dulling by the moment as she felt Tristan pull his hand from hers, pulling himself farther and farther away from her. "My oncologist is Dr. Sion. I'm supposed to see her tomorrow to go over the results of my most recent bloodwork, if you want to give her a call I have her number." She stared at Dr. Marks, because if she didn't, she would burst into tears.

 _This was not how she wanted him to find out._

"That won't be necessary, we have it on file here —" he stopped as his pager began to beep frantically. "I'm so sorry, I have to go check on another patient. I'll be back in a little, however, I think you are correct; most likely the fainting is from the medication and nothing to be overly concerned about." With a nod, he stepped back out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

Ellie watched the dawn of comprehension continue to rise on Tristan's face as he processed her answers to the doctor's questions, explaining about her cancer diagnosis and the current medications that she was taking. She'd seen how each word that left her mouth was like a knife, stabbing Tristan in the heart; his face draining of color, his expression shifting from shock to hurt to rage.

 _And that's when she realized…_

After a diagnosis of cancer, everyone you meet suddenly falls into one of two categories. The first, which is most people, are those who treat you with sympathy and pity, like her father, her friends, Marge and the other nurses who helped her. They put on a brave face, tell you to stay strong, stay hopeful that the next round of medications or treatment will work; overwhelmed with their pity, they treat you like you're made of glass, the slightest touch able to make you shatter, physically and emotionally.

The second type of people are fewer and farther in-between. They, by contrast, react on the complete opposite end of the spectrum. They avoid you at all costs, shutting you out completely, and when they can't, they treat you with a barely-contained anger, cold and curt; they'd cut off their own arm if it would free them from your presence. At first, it's painful and seems so cruel, until someone explains to you the reason why. The callous and seemingly unfeeling minority push you away because they have lost someone that they cared deeply about to cancer. They push you away, treat you like a leper, because they don't want to be reminded of the pain; they push you away to protect themselves from the trauma of the memories.

 _And that's when she realized that Tristan's mom must have died of cancer._

There was an instant when she wasn't sure how he was going to respond, when the shock of finding out that she, someone who he cared about, had a life-threatening diagnosis was to be expected; she'd foolishly assumed he would be like the majority of people.

 _She should know by now that the unexpected was the norm for her._

She watched, dying on the inside, as anger etched itself into his beautiful face, a hard mask descending over his features, shutting her out of his mind, his life, and his heart.

She waited, bracing herself for the words that were to come, knowing that they would not just out of anger for keeping this from him, but from the anger he'd buried down deep inside when his mother had died; she would now get the brunt of both.

It didn't matter that she wasn't going to die, at least not yet; her diagnosis wasn't terminal, but that didn't matter. The fear of that potential inevitability was more than this group of people could take. It was fitting that this should happen here, in the hospital; the setting always geared her mind and body up for pain. Even though she'd been on the road to recovery, she'd lost so much from a hospital bed – her friends, her social life, her health, her dreams.

 _It was only fitting that she would lose her heart, too._

The click of the door closing opened the floodgates behind her eyes, tears beginning to flow down her cheeks. "Tristan, I –" she began, her voice thick with emotion.

"Don't," he cut her off sharply. "Don't fucking say another word." He turned and stalked over to the door, unable to look at her, running his hands viciously through his already disheveled hair. "You have cancer."

"Yes," she whispered, unsure if he was even asking a question.

"How long?"

"Since I was six. Well, when I was six, and then I beat it, but then it came back when I was in college. It took a little longer, but I beat it that time too – or, at least, I thought I had. I…" she trailed off, realizing that she was rambling and that now was not the time to ramble. He needed to get his emotions out.

"So, this whole fucking time…the reason you hid your arms, the 'abuse' you suffered, the past you were trying to forget…" he scoffed, connecting every dot that hadn't sat right with him previously into a perfectly explainable picture. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I couldn't!" she exclaimed, frustration and the need to make him understand raising her voice. "I just couldn't bear the thought that you would look at me differently. Tristan, no one has ever looked at me the way that you have – especially when they find out that I have cancer. You looked at me like you wanted me, like I was perfect and not some poor, broken thing that needed to be taken care of or pitied or sheltered." She paused for a split second to catch her breath before she pushed on through his fiery stare that threatened to incinerate her. "I didn't even know that it might be back when we first met, otherwise I wouldn't have auditioned. I thought I was finally in the clear, but then I started feeling sick and my doctor put me back on the meds to be safe. I didn't know how to tell you, especially when I don't even have all the answers yet. I guess," she broke, her voice beginning to hurt from her vehemence, "I guess, I thought I would tell you when the project was done, and I had all the answers to give you figured out."

"Well, you told me. It's done," he spat harshly, his words a clear indication of where their relationship was heading.

"Please, Tristan," she begged, her voice cracking with emotion. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you. What I have isn't terminal, I can beat it again. It will be ok, I promise." Ellie didn't even know what she was saying; she didn't even know that she could keep that promise, but she would fight like hell to try if it meant keeping Tristan. "Please, I love you."

A dark look spread over his face, and for the first time, her body froze in fear of what he was about to say, instinctively knowing that it was going to crush her.

"You love me? Perfect, mission accomplished," he smirked. Just like with Pierce though, she could see the hurt hiding behind and driving the words he wanted to destroy her. "Let your dad know I have your portrait ready for him whenever he's ready to make the exchange."

 _Wait, what?_

His words stopped her cold. Confusion blossoming in her pounding head. "I don't understand…" she said softly, tears creeping down her face.

"Your portrait. It's for your dad. He asked me to make it of you. Well no, not asked – blackmailed. He has the portrait of my mom that he is only willing to return to me in exchange for one of you; _that's_ why you are here. _That's_ why I picked you," he explained coldly, his words completely devoid of all empathy. Anger punctuated each thought as the promise of revenge prompted him to drive his point home. "I picked you, I drew you, I fucked you, and now I've broken your heart; tell him to think twice before blackmailing me again." He stormed towards the door.

 _This couldn't be happening._

Her hands came up to cover her mouth and the sob that stormed out of her.

 _Her father…Tristan…portrait…blackmail._

His words swirled around in her mind, but it wasn't the pain in her head that made it hard to focus on them, it was the pain in her heart. She could have understood his anger when she thought it'd been coming from the hurt of losing his mom, but this, this was much more than that. This was planned, premeditated; breaking her had been his aim from the start. Everything between them, every word, every touch, every kiss, had just been part of his strategy.

 _Loving him had brought her back into the world of the living only, he'd never been falling for her in return, he'd just been using her, which mean the world of the living was just a world of lies._

" _Tristan,"_ she managed to choke out through her tears, her hand reaching towards him just as his reached for the handle on door.

And, at that exact moment, her dad burst into the room exclaiming, "Ellie! Oh, my God, are you ok? I got over here as soon as they called me. What—" he stopped short, seeing Tristan in the room. "What are you doing here? What have you done to her?" Jack asked him harshly.

"Leaving," Tristan responded, his voice completely devoid of emotion. "I did what you asked me to do, and now I'm leaving her." With those final words, he turned and walked out of the room, taking her heart, her hope, and her life with him.


	32. Chapter 31

Chapter 31

Tristan stormed blindly out of the hospital, needing to get out of that room, away from Ellie, and all of the feelings that had started to suffocate him. He couldn't believe what he'd been hearing; the names of the drugs weren't familiar to him, which meant that whatever she was taking them for wasn't common. Those were the first stones that had started to roll out from underneath his feet, but when the doctor had asked about remission, that was when the avalanche had started.

He felt like the floor had dropped out from underneath him, her voice telling the doctor that she had cancer sounded like it was in a vacuum, like he was watching a TV show, one that was a horrible re-run of his life. His mother's face kept flickering back into his mind, her beautiful loving face, torturously withering away from the God-forsaken disease. His heart had stopped, too painful to keep beating, even as she sat there begging him for compassion, begging him to hear her.

 _Begging him to love her._

 _"Fuck."_ Nothing had come through. After hearing her admit to having cancer, nothing after that had registered; her words hitting the last remnants of protective barricade he'd built around himself. Everything that he had done to prevent himself from being in this exact same situation again, _everything_ had failed him. She'd crashed into his heart, effusing into every piece of him, and not once did he think that this is how it would end.

 _Of all of the endings he'd imagined. Of all of the endings that even Pierce had imagined. This was not one._

Tristan became aware of his surroundings as he put his key into his apartment door; he had no recollection of the blocks that he'd walked back from New York Presbyterian Hospital to his building. Shutting the door behind him, he struggled to breathe for the third time today.

Every time he'd come before and Ellie wasn't there, he'd felt it – felt the loss of her. This time, her absence almost brought him to his knees as he leaned back on the door for support.

 _Her absence and the full knowledge that she would never be back._

Only now, everywhere he looked, he saw her. He saw her portrait left up in the living room. He saw the faint marks on his windows from her hands on them the first time he'd made her come. The kitchen was covered in leftovers from their dinner last night, his spatula still on the floor from where he'd dropped it this morning, unable to resist her seductive tease. Pulling out a bottle of liquor, not even caring which one it was, he chugged down several very healthy mouthfuls in an attempt to dull the painful ache inside of him.

Numbly, he walked through the space, his mind seeing Ellie, gorgeously naked in front of him, walking away. His pace picked up just to try to catch her; he didn't want to lose her. _If he could only just catch her._

His mind and his body remembered carrying her out of the kitchen and into the bedroom – and that's where his hallucinations stopped. The deep red stains on his bed jarring him painfully back to the beginning of the end. He paused next to the dried, blood-covered pillowcase, picturing her lifeless body lying there – the image distorting, the room turning into the hospital, Ellie laying in the bed, motionless, as his mom's oncologist entered the room, coming around to verify what the beeping of the machine was suggesting.

 _"I'm sorry, Mr. Black. She's gone."_ The words he'd heard the doctor tell his father; the words that had lost him everything he had cared about, only now, it was Ellie the doctor had been talking about.

The tears running down his face brought him back to his actual surroundings. Turning from the bed, he walked into the bathroom to wash his hands and face. Stopped again by the sight of the glass-covered floor. To think that seconds before all of this had happened, he'd had her up against the shower wall, her body convulsing in pleasure, his erupting, spilling himself so deeply inside of her; such exquisite pleasure to be followed by such excruciating pain.

His hands covered his eyes, unable to escape her, unable to escape the thoughts of her or the pain that accompanied them.

 _So. Much. Pain._

 _"FUCK!"_ he roared, turning to punch the vanity mirror above the sink, adding to the collection of glass on the floor and the spilt blood in the apartment. He didn't even feel it.

 _He wanted to. God, how he wanted to._

Physical pain was easier to handle than the pain inside of his heart breaking. Tristan dropped everything and stormed out of his apartment, needing to go somewhere that wouldn't have Ellie's essence engrained in everything. In the elevator, he realized he'd left his keys inside the condo.

 _Have someone break in and steal something,_ he dared the universe, a mocking laugh accompanying the thought because that would be something that would happen to him now – except he didn't give a shit if it did.

 _The only thing valuable I ever had in that apartment is currently laying in a hospital bed, already stolen from me._

Ellie jerked away from her father as he rushed to her side to try to comfort her. Her immediate reaction was rash and cruel, but the pain was blinding. She couldn't think, she couldn't focus. A part of her heard her father's frantic questions – " _Ellie, what's wrong?" "What happened? Did he hurt you?" "I'll kill him if he hurt you, honey, just tell me what happened."_

 _Tristan had left her._

She'd lived her worst fears, that is what had happened, but she couldn't find the words or the strength to say them through her sobs. She didn't know how long she cried, but at some point, her dad had given up on the questions and just sat with her quietly, knowing that she would talk when she was able.

The doctor didn't come back. Her dad shooed the nurse away when she tried to come into the room. After that, she'd been left in peace to mourn. For the longest time, it was only the fact that he had left – his words, " _You told me, it's done"_ and then the final " _I'm leaving her,"_ hammered over and over again against her heart, slowly breaking up any pieces that remained until there was nothing but a pile of despairing dust left inside of her. Finally, her tears stopped because her body just couldn't make anymore; her sobs subsided only because her throat had finally given out on her, too raw to continue.

With no tears, only puffy eyelids obscuring her view, she finally got a good look at her dad's stricken face, hunched over the side of her bed, his hands clenched together just waiting for her to open up to him, except she couldn't.

 _He was a part of this._

"How," she began, her throat rasping painfully at the attempt to speak, "how do you know Tristan Black?"

She watched her father's face break, recognizing that she knew enough where he would have to tell her the whole truth, even though it would hurt her even more. Ellie didn't say another word, she just waited while he fidgeted uncomfortably in his chair. Reaching for the cup of ice water, she drank the now-lukewarm water slowly, letting it coat and calm her burning throat.

"I met him at an auction several weeks ago," Jack began, his eyes still staring down at his hands. "I went because I'd heard these artists, the Gentlemen's Guild, were good – like really good, Ellie, and I needed one of them. I didn't realize how exclusive and hard to meet they were." He paused, glancing up at her. She still said nothing; she wanted the whole story.

 _She deserved the whole story – the truth._

"In a fortunate, or unfortunate for some, turn of events, the auctioneer mistakenly put up a drawing that wasn't supposed to be sold. The image, it was just beautiful Ellie, and so I bid on it and won. I asked if I could meet the artist, but the Guild's manager said that they don't meet buyers, or any clients for that matter. So, I went to leave, trying to think of another way I could contact them, when a man – Tristan – approached me." Again, he paused, waiting for a reaction from her – one that wasn't coming.

"He explained that I'd won the wrong piece, something that I was unaware of up until that point. It's not usually in my nature, but I suddenly saw an opportunity to turn this oversight into an opportunity, initially refusing to return the work that I had purchased fair-and-square. I said I would be willing to consider an exchange if I could meet the artist, at which point Tristan enlightened me to his other identity; he was 'Titian', he was the artist."

Ellie couldn't help the signs of disappointment from creeping onto her face, hearing the beginnings of the tale of blackmail that Tristan had hinted at.

"So, I told him that I would exchange his painting only if he would provide me with one of you."

 _So, Tristan had been telling the truth. Her father had resorted to blackmail._

She couldn't believe it, let alone understand his actions. "Why?" she croaked out.

"Oh, sweetheart," he said, regretfully, his hand coming up to cover his mouth, as though even he almost couldn't fathom what had prompted him.

 _Almost._

"I couldn't take it anymore," he started again. "I couldn't take watching you every day losing more and more confidence in yourself, even as you were getting closer and closer to a complete recovery. You left the firm, and I was hopeful. I had hoped that this was finally your new beginning, that you would find something where I would finally see you happy and excited, but instead, you left and you just continued to look more and more lost. It was as though you didn't know how to live without having cancer as a handicap. You were afraid, I could see it in your eyes. You wanted to live, but you were afraid to. Even though you'd beaten the cancer, a part of it had beaten you and your self-esteem." He looked up at her, the pain of what he had seen happening to her echoing in his eyes. "I thought, if I could find an artist to draw you, to take the time to painstakingly replicate every detail, it would show you just how beautiful and valuable you are and that the cancer hadn't changed that."

Twenty minutes must have been enough production time because Ellie felt the cool course of fresh tears streaming down her face.

' _Mission accomplished', dad. Tristan did exactly that. He showed me that I am gorgeous and valued and desirable. Because of him, I'm no longer afraid of living, I just no longer have a reason to._

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart," her father choked out, his eyes filling with tears now, too. "I never meant for any of this. I just…" He stopped to blow his nose. "I just wanted you to finally see the real you."

Her throat was thick again, too thick to respond. For a minute, they both just sat there, letting the tears fall from their eyes. She wanted to be mad at him; she wanted to be irate at him for lying to her, for trapping her into meeting the love of her life, for putting her in the position now where that love was built on nothing but lies, both his and Tristan's.

But, there'd been enough anger today and how could he have known that she would fall in love that golden, gorgeous artist.

With a pained inhale, she finally opened her mouth to respond. "I did, dad. I did see it," she whispered, giving him a watery smile.

 _My eyes were opened at the expense of my heart._

"What happened, Ellie?" he asked again.

She laughed a little on her exhale before finally admitting, "I fell in love with him, dad."

Her father just stared at her, his eyes widening in understanding; the extent of her brokenness now making more sense. His brow then furrowed in confusion. "What happened? Is this because of his drawing? I'll give it back to him. I was wrong to keep it in the first place; he can have it," Jack continued, thinking that the drawing was the reason that Tristan had left her.

Then, her memory from the other day crept to the forefront of her mind – the covered drawing in her dad's dining room, the familiar face it contained. Tristan had his mother's eyes, it was no wonder that she would recognize them anywhere.

"Did you know it was of his mom?" she asked bluntly, suddenly wondering if he'd blackmailed Tristan knowing that the portrait was of his deceased mother, praying that her father wouldn't have gone that far, knowing what it was like to lose a wife and a mother.

It was a good thing that she was at rock bottom because when her father nodded in admission, she could feel no more pain or disappointment in his actions.

"Oh, dad…" Her sorrow seared through the softly spoken words. _How could he have done such a thing?_ She didn't have to say anything more, the look of anguish on his face told her that he was already suffering enough from the choices that he had made; raking him over the coals for it wouldn't help the situation any. Instead, she forged on with her explanation. "She died of cancer."

"Oh, Jesus, Ellie…I'll give it back," he choked out, biting on his fist with all of the regret he had for his actions. "I didn't know that - not that it matters. I'll give it back. I don't know what came over me, sweetheart. I'm so sorry for disappointing you like this; I will return it to him immediately.

"She died of cancer," she repeated, trying desperately to get the last, painful piece of the story out, "and I never told him about mine."

"But, when he told you about his mom, why wouldn't you –"

Ellie cut him off, "He didn't tell me – he didn't have to." She inhaled shakily. "I saw it in the anger in his face this afternoon when he found out about mine. He's one of the angry ones, dad. He learned, took one look at me and saw nothing but the next opportunity for him to lose someone he cares about."

 _She couldn't bring herself to say 'someone he loves.'_

"What did he say? Why would he tell you then about knowing me?"

"He told me because he was hurting, and he wanted to make me hurt too. He told me that I meant nothing to him. He told me that making me fall in love with him was part of his plan to get revenge on you for blackmailing him. He told me that he set out to break my heart from the beginning to punish you."

"I'm going to kill him, Ellie." The protective rage in her father's eyes actually bringing her some concern. She didn't know that she'd even seen him this angry. "I'm going to burn that goddamn portrait of his mother – I don't care if she died. How he has treated you is unforgivable!" His words vibrated with the intensity of his anger.

Ellie grabbed his hand, bringing him back to focus on her. "Dad, you aren't going to do any of those things," she said, her voice deadly calm and serious. "You are going to return his mother's portrait and then you are going to walk away and leave him alone. Do you understand?" Her tone made it clear she would accept no other answer than his agreement.

"Ellie, how can —" he began, flustered by the ease with which she glossed over the incredibly painful things Tristan had said to her.

"I can because no matter what he has said, I love him and he is hurting. And if I can't promise him myself for the rest of his life, at least I can give him back the only other woman who could possibly have loved him close to how much I do."

Her father just stared at her, waiting for her words to sink through his anger at the man who had broken his daughter's heart. Slowly, the hard edges of his face softened in sadness, seeing how both she and Tristan had suffered. Ellie knew Tristan's suffering would never completely excuse the things he'd said in her father's mind, but at least he finally could see the situation from Tristan's perspective.

"I'll be sure to return the drawing back to him this week, once you are home and safe."

"Thank you," she said, forcing a smile to her face as she squeezed her dad's hand. "I think I'm going to rest for a little bit alone, if that's ok. I'm completely exhausted."

"Of course, darling," her father responded, taking the hint knowing that he had disappointed her. He stood and leaned over the bed to kiss her on her forehead before heading towards the door. "I'll see if I can't find the doctor and see if he's gotten ahold of Dr. Sion."

Ellie just nodded, not really caring what he did, so long as she could just be alone right now. She needed time to assess the damage, to pick up the eviscerated pieces of her heart and bury them along with any hope she had for her future.

She couldn't…she wouldn't believe that Tristan had meant the things that he said. She had seen the anguish attempting to burst through his mask of anger. She knew that he cared about her, that he loved her – it was the reason, deep down, why he had said what he did. When you become sick like she had been, it teaches you that most, if not all, times when someone lashes out, it's from hurt. It didn't excuse what he'd said, or his motives for choosing her. But, if he had wanted to hurt her there had been countless other opportunities for him to break her; he only chose now because she had broken him.

 _It was easier to hate her and lose her than to love her and lose her; that's what she chose to believe, if for no other reason than the alternative would most assuredly kill her – quicker and more painfully than the leukemia ever would._


	33. Chapter 32

Chapter 32

"Tris."

He heard his name vaguely through his hungover haze, and like he'd done with most things over the past however many days, he chose to ignore it.

" _Tristan!"_

The annoying asshole persisted, this time the noise accompanied by object hitting the back of his already pounding head. The vibration breaking up the fog surrounding him

"What the fuck…" he groaned, his hand blindly reaching for the spot where he'd been struck.

"You need to get up." Sloane's calmly irritated voice got louder as his friend moved closer.

"I don't need to _fucking_ do anything," he groggily replied, squeezing his eyes shut harder, trying to go back to the unconscious sleep he'd been in.

"Yeah, you fucking do because you're still on my couch and you've been on my couch for the past three days."

" _Three days?"_ His perspective on time had been way off. Three days was a long fucking time; he had shit to do. Tristan rolled over, groaning as the movement made his entire body ache. He struggled, finally pushing himself up to sit on the couch, his sensitive eyes raising to meet the disapproving stare of his keeper.

"Three days, Tris."

"What happened?" Honestly, he felt like it had been maybe a night, because that was about all of the memory that he had. Not even memories – just shadows of dark drinks and even darker feelings.

Sloane sighed, sitting down in the chair across from him. Thankfully, all of the blinds in Sloane's apartment were closed so Tristan could actually look at his friend without too much pain being inflicted on his head.

"You showed up here Monday night. Well, I tried calling you first, to check on…" he paused here, clearly unsure if he should even say her name.

"Ellie," Tristan rasped for him.

"I tried calling you, you didn't answer. Next thing I know you are here, with bottles of alcohol, and you just start drinking."

"Have I stopped?" Tristan asked, his head really starting to pound.

"Well, you drank through all your alcohol and mine and were too hungover to go get more. So yes, but only out of necessity, because I sure as shit wasn't about to go buy you more." Sloane informed him, nodding to the glass of water and four pills sitting on the coffee table in front of him. "Take those, it'll help bring you back to the world of the living."

"Not sure I'm going to survive that journey," Tristan remarked sarcastically as he picked up the pain meds and chugged them down with the entire glass of water.

"You will, if for no other reason than you need to get out of my apartment."

"I thought we were friends," he croaked, only partially offended by the blunt attempt to get rid of him.

"We are. However, for the past three days, I've been not only dealing with my life, but running auto-pilot on yours. Fielding calls from your secretary, your office, trying to pry business answers out of your drunken ass when all you want to talk about is her."

"Fuck," Tristan spat, "Sorry, man."

"Don't be sorry. I know what happened – at least if your drunken alter-ego can be trusted, I know."

"What did I tell you?" Tristan asked, unsure that he even remembered everything that had happened.

"A lot of crazy shit," Sloane huffed. "Sparknotes version? You found out Ellie has cancer. You told her that you only fucked her to break her heart. And that you told her the only reason you 'picked' her as your model was because her father blackmailed you into doing it." He paused again. "Yeah, I think that's about it – oh no, wait. And that you don't love her. 'Absolutely not' – or so you said."

Tristan groaned, the pain meds starting to dull his headache, but the lack of alcohol allowing his heartache to return with full force. "What am I going to do?"

Sloane laughed. "Man, the only thing you've asked for more than another drink in the past three days is the answer to that question."

"What was your answer?"

"I didn't have one."

"Seriously? You can't even give me a fucking crumb of advice," Tristan replied angrily. He caught Sloane's piercing blue stare, realizing that he'd crossed a line. "Fuck, sorry. I'm…God, I don't even know. I'm a fucking mess."

"Exactly. I'll tell you what I told you before. You _do_ love her and there is nothing you can do to change that. Your only choice is how you lose her – willingly or unwillingly. I don't have the answer for which way you should go, and, even if I did, you aren't mentally or physically in the right place to work through that right now. You need to sober up and get your shit together, go into work, clean up your life that's been continuing to go on around you for the past three days, and then, when you're back in your right mind, we can talk about advice."

"Yeah," Tristan sighed in agreement. The truth of Sloane's words sinking in with the somber reality of the situation. "Shit. My office has been calling?"

Sloane laughed again. "If by your office, you mean Donna, then yes. Christ, that woman is a force to be reckoned with. I tried to hire her out from under you while you were unconscious on my couch. You are in big trouble with her for this disappearing act in the middle of the Vanguard transition."

Tristan began to laugh, until he realized how painful it was. "Yeah," he said tightly. "She's going to have my ass for this one. Any chance I can get some more water?"

Sloane grabbed his glass saying, "that's the only drink I'm willing to get you."

Tristan closed his eyes and leaned back against the couch, his head falling back, trying to brace himself for the day ahead. Three days meant that today was Thursday. There was no way he was going into the office like this today, which meant tomorrow was going to be a shit-show. Right now, he needed to go home.

"Fuck," he groaned, fists clenching.

"What's wrong?" Sloane asked, the thud of the freshly-filled glass of water hitting the table.

"My apartment. It's a nightmare." _Both physically and emotionally._

"Yeah, I know. You whined about that too, I think…yeah, Tuesday night you whined about that one."

Tristan chugged down half of the new glass of water, ignoring his friend's taunting remarks. "I need to get someone in to clean it before I go back there. I can't go in and see it all…again."

"I did."

He looked up at his friend. "What do you mean?"

"I had it cleaned for you," Sloane explained casually.

"Seriously?" Tristan asked, stunned by the gesture.

"Yes, seriously."

"Thanks. You didn't have to do that."

"Yeah well, I didn't want there to be any excuses why you weren't getting your sorry ass off my couch and going back home today so, you can thank me, but it was purely out of selfish motivation that I did it." Even though Sloane laughed as he said it, Tristan knew that that wasn't the real reason. Sloane had done it to help him, and that meant he must have been really fucked up and upset.

"Yeah, I bet," he scoffed, making his first attempt to stand. The successful move, while uncomfortable, was a promising start for the rest of the day. "Alright, let me call a cab and get out of your hair."

He picked up his cell – which was fully charged, thanks to Sloane, and called for a car. He looked around the place for anything else of his that he'd brought.

"You're holding it," Sloane said.

"What?"

"You only had your cell and a bag of liquor when you got here on Monday, so if you're looking for the rest of your stuff well, that's it."

"Alright, well that makes it easy." Tristan slipped on his shoes. "Thanks for letting me crash here. Sorry that I gave you no warning and probably dumped a whole shitload of shit on you."

"Yeah, well, I'm pretty confident that my couch has now seen more talk time than my therapist's, but what are friend's for?" he joked, slapping Tristan on the back as they headed for the front door.

"One more thing," Tristan began as he walked out the door, "have I heard anything…about her…" He felt so lame for asking, but he honestly couldn't remember and even though he'd been there when the doctor said Ellie was going to be fine from the fall, he couldn't shake the edge of needing to know that she'd gone home ok.

"No, you haven't," Sloane replied gently, hearing the desperation in Tristan's voice.

"Ok, thanks again."

"But," Sloane called after him, "I called the hospital yesterday and even though they wouldn't tell me anything about her, I did manage to charm the nurse into telling me that she'd been sent home yesterday. So, I'm guessing that means she's ok."

Tristan just nodded, his jaw clenching at the thoughtfulness of his friend, calling the hospital knowing he'd be asking about her. He stepped into the elevator of Sloane's building, heading down to the car waiting for him, and the freshly cleaned apartment that had been vacant for days.

 _Knowing Sloane, his apartment was going to be wiped cleaner than the day he'd moved in; now, all that was left was to find out just how well the alcohol had wiped his memories._

Ellie was tired of being in the hospital. It seemed like nowadays, it was like they couldn't release you soon enough, except apparently when it was her turn for a stay. They'd kept her into Tuesday to make sure nothing flared up in her head after the fall, taking more scans after the first twenty-four hours to check for signs of bleeding and swelling. Everything had come back clear, which meant that under normal circumstances, she should have been able to go home. But cancer always complicated normal circumstances. Her bloodwork still hadn't come back before the doctor left for the day on Tuesday, and because Dr. Sion was afraid her cancer was returning, they didn't want to release her without having the results in front of them. Which meant she was held until Wednesday.

Her dad had kept her company most of the time, except when she forced him to go into the office to get work done, insisting that she wasn't going anywhere. The periods of solitude, she'd spent in mourning. Just staring at the wall or out the window, not even seeing what was in front of her, just the images that were replaying in her mind. In those times, she relived her brief yet life-changing relationship with Tristan – the happy, sad, erotic, inspiring, loving, and heartbreaking moments. She felt and relished each and every emotion, processing it just like she processed trying new foods; except this time she was absorbing every sensation the feelings evoked so that when she left here, she wouldn't have to feel them ever again.

About noon on Wednesday, the door to her room had opened and in walked, not just Dr. Marks, but her father and Dr. Sion. Confusion bloomed on her face; she knew the hospital had contacted Dr. Sion but without the results of the test, there was really nothing else that she could do.

"Dr. Sion, what is –" Ellie began before the doctor cut her off, a smile spreading over her face.

"Ellie, I have great news. I had to come over in person because we got the results from your blood test back and because of the issues we had, I was waiting to confirm the results with the sample that the hospital took. The tests are back and everything is completely normal," Dr. Sion shared gleefully, as Ellie's father moved to the bed to clasp Ellie's hand. Ellie's eyes widened, her brain reluctantly trying to process what Dr. Sion had just said. "Your cancer is still in remission, Ellie," Dr. Sion continued more directly, "it hasn't returned, you just had an interesting case of the flu."

"You hear that, sweetheart? You're still cancer-free," her father reiterated with tears in his eyes.

"And that means that I'm here to tell you that you are finally free to go home," Dr. Marks chimed in.

"Are you…are you sure?" Ellie choked out in disbelief.

"Absolutely. Your new tests came back completely normal. You can stop all of the medication that I've had you on, because I agree with Dr. Marks – and you, that they seem to be the cause of your fainting spells."

Ellie covered her mouth as the sobs began to come. Her whole body shook as her father's arms encircled her. "Thank you," she barely got out before her emotional relief made it too hard for her to talk. Turning into her dad's shoulder, she hugged him tightly, crying into his jacket. For the second time this week, she was completely overwhelmed with her emotions. Thankfully, this time it was relief and happiness that was radiating through every cancer-free cell in her body.

After the past few days, she'd lost so much and she'd assumed the worst about her disease too. Now, to find out that she was still truly in remission was a miracle. All of the worry and anxiety that had been building even since Dr. Sion told her that her bloodwork was inconclusive finally surged out of her, evaporating into excitement.

 _She was a survivor._

Hope and happiness bloomed in her chest where resignation had previously resided.

 _She was cancer-free. She had a future._

She cried against her father, both of them shedding tears of joy as the doctors quietly made their way out of the room. Of course, it wasn't definitive – life never was. There was also the chance that it could still recur, but today, in this moment, neither of them allowed that slim possibility to deter their spirits. Somehow, this time, hearing that the cancer was in remission was more Earth-shattering than the last. Maybe because the last time she had no idea what to expect from life; she'd had no idea what it could offer her. Now, she did.

Ellie knew who she was, what she was capable of, that she was so much more than what the leukemia and the therapy had done to her, and most importantly, she knew she was no longer afraid to put herself out there, to go after her dreams…to live.

 _Tristan had showed her that. She'd walked into his life, saw the gorgeous God sitting up high on his pedestal, and wondered why he would choose her; every time she'd stared into his polished, golden eyes, she'd been searching for answers. The reality was that she'd never been attracted to their shine; their shine wasn't real, but only a reflection. His eyes, and his drawings, had only reflected the woman she'd been refusing to acknowledge. She'd been looking for answers in those mirrors and loving him had let her admit to herself that they'd been showing her the truth of who she was this whole time._

The excitement and happiness and hope was all made more poignant though from Tristan's loss. She'd lost him, but gained back her life – not that those things were mutually exclusive, but that was what life had dealt her. Still sitting in the hospital bed, it certainly felt like a trade – her love for her life.

 _And she wasn't sure that that trade was one she would have willingly made._

"Can you believe it, sweetheart?" her dad asked, his eyes still teary.

Ellie gave him a tremulous smile, "I'm certainly trying to."

"This is wonderful!" he exclaimed, standing up from the side of the bed. "I'm going to call the office and let them know I won't be in for the rest of the day; I'm getting you out of here and we are going to go celebrate! Where should we go? What do you feel like eating?"

She paused for a second, thinking. "What about Indian food?"

Her father's response was almost comical – his eyes widening, his mouth dropping open and then closing and then opening again, trying to get the words out. "I didn't know you liked Indian food," he began, "have you had it before? Will I like it?"

"Nope. And I guess we will find out," Ellie responded playfully. "I think it's about time for us to try something new, don't you think?"

A loving smile spread over his face. "Absolutely."

Ellie watched him leave, wondering why Indian food had been the first thing that had come to her mind, but it had. _Something new._ This was her chance to finally start fresh, and she couldn't continue under the assumption that only Tristan could have her experience new things. He was gone and, if the unacknowledged hurt and fear in his eyes were any indication, he wouldn't…he couldn't come back. But, what he'd given her – the confidence, the drive to push her boundaries, that didn't have to leave along with him; no, she would keep growing even though the source of her inspiration was gone.

 _Her heart might be broken, but if there was one thing that surviving cancer had taught her, finally, it was that losses are meant to be learned from, not caged by. She might never love someone again, but at least the rest of her life was still hers to live. Finally._


	34. Chapter 33

Chapter 33

 _It still wasn't right._

Tristan stared at the portrait in front of him, frustrated at both it and himself. For the first time since he could remember, he couldn't get his hand to cooperate with his heart. This was the third attempt he'd made at Ellie's portrait – the first two lay crumpled up next to him, this one about to be added to the pile with all of the eraser marks staining the paper's pristine surface. Nothing that he drew was right, nothing made the image look more like _her._

The way he figured it, he was right about dead center of the 'bargaining' phase of grief. He laughed in spite of himself, pouring himself a modest drink while he continued to psycho-analyze himself.

The first few days, the ones he still didn't quite remember, had been phase one – denial. He'd drank himself to oblivion to forget her; he didn't just want to deny his feelings for her or the fact that she has cancer, he'd wanted to deny her whole fucking existence; hell, the way he'd drank, he'd want his fucking existence, too. _Go big or go home, right?_ After three days, even his stubborn ass got the message that that was impossible. So, he'd made his goals slightly more achievable now trying to believe that he didn't really love her.

 _He just happened to think about her all the time._

"Shut up," he grumbled to himself.

Sloane had kicked him out, literally, of the denial stage. Which meant he was on to stage two – anger. Since he'd left Sloane's apartment, the days had blurred together, punctuated only by moments of forced lucidity when he had to deal with work. He'd gone into the office the next day – Friday, and Donna had ripped him a new one; in the politest way possible, of course, and being in his current state, he'd almost fired her for it. Thankfully, he wasn't certifiably insane; she'd saved his ass more times than he could count, and so he apologized.

After that mishap with uncontrolled rage, he'd focused on the Vanguard integration for the solid and solitary eight hours of the workday; it had been fucking magical. Until he'd come back home and realized that no matter how spotless his apartment had been cleaned, nothing could remove the stain that her love left on his heart. He'd tried everything – reading, watching TV, taking Benadryl to try to sleep; it didn't matter, she was always there, begging him to come back to her. After a sleepless Friday night, he got up off the couch where'd he'd been lying – unable to face his bed. He took one look at the portrait he'd done of Ellie – her indescribable happiness, her eyes that had been watching him all night, her smile that had set his body on fire, and he tore it up and set it ablaze.

 _As if destroying her portrait from his home would destroy her presence in his heart._

That was the second foolish assumption he'd made, but at least he only saw her in his mind now. He didn't even care about the stupid fucking competition this coming weekend, he'd withdraw at some point this week because there was no way he was going to willingly participate in anything having to do with love; not that he could now with no chance of getting his mother's portrait back – another thought that fueled his rage.

So, he'd turned to exercising… _hard._ He pushed his body beyond its breaking point in the hopes that it would halt his mind and give him some peace. If he cared about PR's the last few days would have broken so many records but, all he cared about was eliminating the anger inside of him before it burned him from the inside out.

 _He'd been so fucking angry._

The doctor's words had replayed in his mind fueling his anger at Ellie for not telling him.

 _No, that's a lie – they fueled his anger at Ellie for having cancer._

Because it was her fault, obviously. _Not._ It was an asshole feeling to have, but he had it, which is why his anger was then directed towards himself – for being an asshole, for saying the things that he had to her, knowing just how to hurt her most caustically. Her stricken face played over in his mind recalling the things that he'd told her. But mostly he was angry with himself for being foolish enough to fall in love with someone who was dying.

That realization, about his anger, had come yesterday. It effectively pulled him completely out of denial in finally admitting that he loved her and placed him knee-deep in anger for doing so. The good news was, he'd finally slept last night. It had only been for a few hours, but it had been enough to clear some of the emotional fog.

Waking up this morning for work, his head hadn't felt so heavy. It wasn't that he didn't think of Ellie, because of course he did, but there was no overwhelming anger that accompanied it. He'd been optimistic that he was finally back on track, relishing the mundane tasks at the office, enjoying the feeling of being productive. That was until he got home; he'd started to eat the simple dinner he'd made for himself when the blank pad on his easel called to him. He'd tried to ignore it, but Ellie wouldn't leave him alone.

 _Maybe if he just captured her one more time, she'd finally set him free._

And so commenced the bargaining. Leaving his meal half finished, he'd spent the night in front of the canvas, working from memory and the only crystal clear thought he'd had in days.

 _Ellie. Telling him she loved him._

He wanted to draw something…anything…else; any other emotion, any other expression – and there were hundreds of enticing ones that would have sufficed, but suddenly, he couldn't recall any of them. Every moment with her became a blur until she'd whispered that she loved him – the happiness, the hope, the life that shone through in that moment was the _only_ thing he could remember. So, he went to work, his hand moving to capture an image that he knew was far beyond his capabilities, but he had no choice. He drew all night, betting that this portrait would put an end to his heartache – and just like most places where betting occurs, the passage of time played no part in his gamble.

The alarm on his phone was what alerted him to the fact that time in fact was continuing to pass, even though he was no closer in getting the drawing to resemble the Ellie in his mind.

 _She still wasn't right._

But, she would have to wait until later. Tonight, he would finish her and be finished with her. That was his consolation as he walked into his office, hoping that would let him focus on something else for the rest of the day.

He left the office over lunch in search of espresso and a break from the catchup he'd been playing all that morning, pouring over the Vanguard client list, looking to see what kinds of returns they were getting, which managers were providing good returns, and which ones weren't. He'd only taken a portion of the list – the portion with the most valuable accounts to make sure that those clients entrusting them with billions of dollars would see a return equal to that trust. The caffeine and fresh air started to clear his head as he walked into his office. He'd taken a late lunch, so it was almost three o'clock by the time he sat back down in his chair, barely setting his coffee down on the desk before Donna buzzed him.

"Yes?"

"Sorry to bother you, Mr. Black. There a package here for you."

"Ok…" Tristan replied, genuinely confused because she normally handled these things without giving him a play-by-play. "Can you handle it?"

"It's to be hand-delivered," Donna clarified. Immediately, his heart began to race wondering if it was _her._ For a second, all thoughts of fear and anger fleeing him. _For a second._

"By whom?"

"A Mr. Jack Carter." _Fuck._

"Send him in," Tristan said with resignation, surprised and unprepared for this visit. At the same time, he found himself oddly desiring the prospect of punishment from someone else's justifiable hatred.

Tristan rounded his desk, staring at the solid oak door, waiting for what was to come. His blackmailer entered, carrying a familiarly-shaped box, and appearing much less threatening and much less worthy of his hatred than he had just over a month ago.

"Mr. Carter," Tristan drawled, taking command of the situation out of habit, "how can I help you?" He saw the instantaneous and intense indignation flash in Jack's eyes, but it didn't last, quickly diffusing into his calm features. That's when Tristan realized that there was something else motivating the man's presence here today.

 _Someone else._

"Mr. Black," Jack began gruffly, "I just came by to return your drawing and let you know that I am ashamed of my actions and how I handled this situation; I'm very sorry. I know it's no excuse, but I was only thinking of my daughter." He finished his sentence by setting down the packaged piece of artwork against one of the chairs in front of Tristan's desk.

 _Join the fucking club._

Anger coursed through him. _What in the living fuck was going on?_

Tristan was expecting anger, rage – rightly so for how Tristan had treated his daughter. He wasn't expecting this – an apology. He wasn't expecting it and he didn't want it. He wanted the rage. He wanted to be punished for what he'd done to Ellie and the inexcusable things that he'd said to make her believe the unbelievable. He wanted someone to make him pay for not just his cruelty, but for his cowardice. He wanted to apologize to her, to beg for forgiveness, he wanted her affection and to give her his.

 _But he was just too much of a fucking coward, letting his rational, yet irrational, fear control him._

"Thank you," Tristan began, coolly, letting the part of him craving castigation antagonize the man most suited to give it to him. "Did you come expecting to get the portrait of your daughter?" His question punctuated with a smirk.

"I don't expect anything from you, but yes, I would like the portrait of Ellie if you have it."

Her name was like a firebrand on his skin; he hissed as is seared him. "And what if I refuse to give it to you?" Tristan continued to provoke him.

"You would go back on your word?" Jack asked him – but it was with surprise, not anger.

"You did," Tristan practically snarled.

"Well, I can't see a reason why you would want to keep it; you've gotten what you wanted from my daughter, from what I've been told. You don't care about her, you've gotten your mother's portrait back, what purpose could you have for keeping it?" the old man asked, insightfully, irritating Tristan even more as he pushed on. "I'm not here to argue; you can keep it to punish me if you want. I will find someone else to make one for me before she leaves."

Tristan coughed as the air was sucked out of the room. ' _Before she leaves.'_

Tristan felt his heartbeat thudding through him. She was going to do it; she was going to leave the country just like she'd been wanting to. The mention of the portrait's subject cruelly reminding him that she was still here, still alive, still able to be his if he could just let him be hers. He didn't respond to Jack, he couldn't. The anger had left him with only sadness in its wake.

"So, you won't give it back to me then?" Jack asked, an odd touch of resignation and hope in his voice.

"I… _I can't,_ " Tristan ground out. It was as close as he could come to admitting that he couldn't give up Ellie's portrait because it was all he had left of her.

"I see," was Jack's response. The faintest hint of a smile touching his face, as if he could see Tristan's internal suffering and the real reason he wouldn't give up the drawing. "Well, then I'll get going. Thank you for your time." He turned and made his way back to the door.

"How is she?" Tristan sharply soft voice cut through their last moment of silence; his need to know unable to be stopped. Maybe if he just knew that she was ok, he could let her go.

 _Bargaining, again?_

Jack just looked back at him as if his outburst had confirmed what his refusal to give back her portrait had suggested – _that he couldn't let her go._ "Unpredictable," the old man said with a grin before leaving Tristan alone again with his thoughts…and her ghost.

As soon as the door shut behind him, Tristan turned and smashed his fist onto the top of his desk.

 _What the fuck was going on?_

All of his anger was gone. As soon as he heard Ellie was planning on leaving, a switch had flipped inside. Hunched over his desk, he stared at the drops that splattered from his eyes onto the splintered wood. He turned back to his mom's portrait – the start of this whole story, the start of this whole mess. Tearing off the paper it had been wrapped in, he looked at the first woman who had truly loved him, and the first one to leave him. Every time he looked at her face, all he could feel was her love for him.

 _Maybe that's why it was the only expression of Ellie's that he could remember._

He stared at his mother's kind and caring face and he remembered, just like she wanted him to, how much she loved him. Smiling with the irony, he also remembered her simultaneous wish for how much love she'd wanted to give him. Well, she had – her portrait had. It had brought Ellie to him.

 _She'd wanted to give him love and she'd given him Ellie._

Somehow, she'd managed to accomplish that, but then again, mothers always had that uncanny ability to do whatever they set their minds to.

Picking up the portrait, he propped it up on the chair, sitting back down at his desk, he buzzed Donna.

"I'm not to be disturbed for the rest of the morning. Thank you."

"Of course, Mr. Black."

He stared at the image he thought he'd lost forever, stared at his mom's smiling face, and spent the rest of the morning telling her about the man who had stolen her portrait and the woman who had stolen his heart.

 _And so began his descent into depression, the fourth stage in this dreadful spiral._

He hadn't slept all night, again. No, instead, he been up all night working on Ellie's new portrait – bringing to life a face and a singular memory that he was desperate to preserve. He didn't know what compelled him, but his eyes had refused to close, his mind had refused to think of anything but her, and his hand had been unstoppable. All of this meant that this morning he was in an exceptionally bad mood.

 _He loved her._

And he had lost her. Even if he found the strength within himself to not be afraid, to not live his life with the fear of her dying, there was no way she would take him back now – not after everything that he'd said to her and what it had implied. He'd chosen them carefully, the words to enlighten her – the weapons to destroy her. He could have just told her that he didn't love her, but no, that wouldn't have satisfied his pain. No, he couldn't just simply break her heart; he'd had to break her and that everything that he'd made her believe about herself. He'd dared to lie that he never would have chosen her if it hadn't been for her father.

 _Truth – he'd chosen her the second that she'd walked in the room._

He'd dared to lie that his mother's portrait was the only reason he'd created one of her.

 _Truth – he'd drawn her because she'd given him no choice; she'd been a walking inspiration, one no artist would resist._

He'd dared to lie and tell her that he never loved her.

 _Truth – he'd begun to fall for her the day she tripped into his audition, he'd loved her…he couldn't even pinpoint the moment; it was like trying to pin-point the exact stroke or shadow that transformed a sketch into a life-like portrait – you can't. The image is made up of all the little lines and lights coming together, all disconnected until you step back and look at the final result and realize there is a person staring back at you; love is made up of all the little words and gestures coming together, all separate until he now stood back and looked at their time together as a whole and realized that the only thing he could see for certain was his love for her._

He'd worked the whole of the night and she still wasn't right. Maybe in breaking her, he'd broken his talent too. It had been over a week now and all he wanted was to see her, even if it was just on a piece of paper looking back at him. Frustrated, he threw the pencil down and changed for work – looking forward to locking himself in the mind-numbing compartment that was business-building for the next few hours.

It had been a perfect plan; he should know by now to expect those to not work out for him.

"Donna," he snapped at his secretary, whose eyes had widened at the vehemence of his tone, "cancel any meetings on my schedule for today, whoever it is, they can wait. I need a venti red-eye and then I need you to make sure no one disturbs me all day."

"Of course, Mr. Black," she replied, her eyes barely meeting his, surely frustrated by the fact that this was the third time in as many days where he'd had her push off most of his schedule.

"Sorry," he said gruffly, "and thank you." He'd have to give her an extra nice Christmas present this year for all of the rudeness that she'd had to put up with him, especially this past week.

Tossing his stuff onto his desk, he collapsed in his chair, praying that the change to his work environment would be enough of an impetus to let his brain take back control over of his body from his heart.

 _Fuck this._

After the denial, and the anger, sitting alone in sadness his brain was began to process so much more – so many little things that he'd missed: how could she not have told him? How could he not have known? Now it all made sense – why she saw herself the way that she did, why she tried to hide her arms and the 'abuse' of her past. He laughed at his own foolishness, how he thought she'd been in an abusive relationship with a guy, when it had really been with a disease.

 _God, he would have preferred it to be another guy right now – that, he could handle._

And then there were the reasons that felt like his heart was being ripped from him every time they crossed his mind; he was slipping slowly down the path into the dark depths of depression.

 _How could he have treated her the way that he did?_

While she sat there in the hospital, recovering – a moment when support is what she needed most, he'd chosen to decimate her in a way that was probably worse than anything that the cancer could do to her. His heart burned at the thought, trying to imagine if he or his father had done something similar to his mom…the pain was suffocating.

He rubbed his hands over his eyes, knowing it was a mistake to close them. The only thing behind his lids was her stricken face when he'd told her about his deal with her father. Her emotions were always written on her face, it was one of the reasons why he loved her.

 _Fuck fucking fuck._

Now though, it was a curse, haunting him every time his lids tried to shut. The vision of her heartbreak cascading over every exquisite inch of her face when he told her that everything between them was a sham, that it was all part of his plan. He yanked the garbage can out from underneath his desk and vomited into it, his gut clenching and revolting against the horror that he had inflicted.

He'd been in pain – blinding, searing pain, but even that was a pitiful excuse. He saw her in the hospital bed, heard the words being thrown out around him, bringing back vivid memories of his mother's agonizing battle with cancer before it had finally taken her from him. Wiping his mouth with a tissue, he laughed sadly at himself.

 _It wasn't pain, you fucking idiot; it was fear._

In that instant, he saw his past become his future. His life flashed before him as he watched the most beautiful woman he had ever known and loved being slowly and tortuously taken from him while all he could do was stand by and watch.

 _For the second time in his fucking miserable life._

Tristan rubbed his eyes again, pulling his hand back in surprise at the wetness that was coating his fingers. He shook his head in disgust, hating his weakness, hating the fact that every person he had been chosen to love was doomed to leave him.

He loved her. Every breath into his body existed only to fuel his love for her, but sometimes, love isn't enough. Sometimes, love isn't stronger than fear or the pain of loss. Shaking his head resolutely, he knew that he couldn't go through that again, not even for Ellie. Losing his mother was hard; losing her would kill him. At least, leaving her this way was his choice, something that he had a slim and distant chance of recovering from. Watching her being taken from him permanently, without having any say in the matter, well, it was just more than he could bear…

 _Just like everything else about her, like everything else he felt about her – it was all just more..._

The intercom buzzed, a blessed slap back into reality, even though he'd told Donna that he didn't want to be disturbed.

"Sorry, Mr. Black, I know you said to not disturb you, but I have Mr. Bose here. He said he just wants to have a quick word with you and that it won't take long. Should I send him in?"

 _Christ._

Jim was the last person that he wanted to deal with right now, but he didn't have a choice; Jim was too big of a player to just brush off.

 _This better be fucking quick._

"Send him in," he bit out, rubbing his hands over his face trying to bring some life back into it.

"Tristan!" Jim exclaimed as he opened up the office door.

"Jim, good to see you." Tristan forced a smile on his face and energy into his legs to carry himself over to the intruder and greet him with a friendly handshake.

"I'm sure you've got a lot going on, I know, I've been there so I won't stay long," he began warmly, "I just wanted to stop by and thank you in person for everything that you've agreed to do for me. I just…I just can't tell you how much I appreciate it, with the charity and all, just really put my mind and my heart at ease."

 _Yeah, he really could not do this right now._

"Of course, Jim, it was the least I could do," he managed to bite out with the barest hint of happiness to his voice.

"Well, you didn't have to – you know it and I know it, so thank you, son." With that endearment, the older, graying man reached up and patted Tristan on the shoulder, looking like he was fighting off tears.

"You're welcome." It was all Tristan had left in him to say. _He should be thanking Ellie_ was what he had thought.

"Alright, well I'll get out of your hair then," Jim began, turning back towards the door, seeing that Tristan was in no mood for conversation. He breathed a sigh of relief, about head back to his desk when Jim stopped and turned. "I hope you don't mind me asking, but are you ok, son?"

 _I do mind. I do fucking mind because no, I'm not ok._

His mouth opened to respond – to lie, but nothing came out. Jim just looked at him for a second. That was all it took for Jim to recognize the familiar struggle in his eyes, a gaze that glow with life-changing loss.

"I just lost someone that I care about, that's all." He tried to low-play it, but Jim could hear the pain in his voice.

"Did you lose them or are you just living in fear losing them?" Jim asked, his question startling Tristan with its distinction.

"Is there a difference?" Tristan retorted, his words coming out harsher than he meant them.

Jim didn't answer the question, instead responding with one of his own. "Did I ever tell you how my son died?"

Tristan's brows furrow in confusion. "Yes, he was killed in combat."

A regretful smile crossed over Jim's face. "No, no. He was injured in combat, that's how he got started with the Wounded Warriors Project, but it's not how he died." He paused again, forcing Tristan to ask, "How did he die?"

"In a car accident. Here. Drunk driver ran a red light and smashed right into him – he never stood a chance."

"I'm sorry to hear that…" Tristan replied, sincere sadness reflecting in his tone, surprised by the revelation.

"There's a big difference, son, between losing someone and living like you are going to lose someone. The day my boy left to head overseas, I thought I was going to lose him and every day I lived and prepared myself for that reality; I was miserable all the time. I would wake up and think ' _today is the day._ ' I hated answering the phone or answering the doorbell. Anytime anyone at work approached me with any sort of urgency, my heart would stop. My doctor had me on all sorts of blood pressure and anti-anxiety medication to try and compensate. When he finally came home safe, I finally let that fear go because he was home, and everything got better. I went of my meds, I was happy, care-free again." Jim paused to take a breath, the memory overwhelming him in that moment.

"Then, one night, I get a phone call that he'd been in an accident and that he didn't make it; they pronounced him dead on the scene. Part of me died that night, and I won't lie to you, I've never felt anything so painful in my entire life, but I'll also tell you that in that year that he was home from the war, I'd never felt so happy either, being able having him in my life and not living every day with the fear of losing him."

Tristan just stared at the man who was baring his soul to him, who'd paused to wipe the tears from his eyes.

"His death was very hard, but it wasn't the perpetual torture of living in fear every day. If I had the choice to have him alive, but overseas until the day I died, or for what happened to have happened, I'd still pick that year with him even knowing what loss is coming, and I know he would, too." Jim sighed, his thoughts finally circling back to the question that had sparked them. "The difference, son, between losing someone, and thinking or fearing that you'll lose someone, is the difference between living and not. Anything can happen to anyone, even people you think are completely safe from harm – we are all dying. When you ignore the difference, and choose to avoid the good things for fear of what bad might or might not happen, the only life you are sure to lose is your own."

Tristan just stared wide-eyed at the man in front of him, his words soaking in, slowly penetrating the hardened wall he'd built around himself over all of these years, after his mother had died. The day he lost his mom, he realized what choice his father had made. Throughout her illness, his father had chosen to live in fear and when she died, he completely lost himself with nothing left to take care of his son that was still alive and well. Tristan had lost two people he loved that day, and had been building up walls ever since; their sole purpose to help him avoid love for the sake of preventing loss.

Ellie was the one who had put cracks in that wall, entire pieces of it starting to crumble off. Ellie had broken through; she had made the attempt at love seem worth it and for the past few weeks, he had dared to believe that it was.

"But, that's just one old man's opinion," Jim concluded softly, patting Tristan on the back and walking out of the office quietly to leave Tristan alone with his epiphany.

It was his choice how he wanted to lose her. Sloane had said it to him days ago, but he hadn't been in the right place to hear or consider it. His heart was always going to hollow without her, whether it was because he forced her away or because her disease did.

 _The devil you know versus the devil you don't –_ Pierce's words came back to haunt him. But, maybe there wasn't always a fucking devil.

Tristan stared out the windows blindly – _Jim was completely right._ That choice wasn't just about losing her, it was about whether or not he wanted to lose himself. Yesterday, losing himself wasn't as frightening, wasn't as painful, as losing her. Today – _now,_ he finally realized that losing out on a life with her, whatever or however long that life was, was infinitely more excruciating.

 _He'd been such a fucking idiot this whole time – blinded by anger, hurt, and fear; he'd willingly given up on the only woman he'd ever loved, the only woman who had lit up his world with inspiration._ _And he didn't know if, let alone how, he'd ever be able to get her back._


	35. Chapter 34

Chapter 34

 _Knock. Knock. Knock._

Each pound on his front door was punctuated with a distinct pause; Pierce always liked to make a statement. Tristan had just gotten home from work. The afternoon had been a blur after Jim had left, unable to shake the idiocy that he'd chosen to pursue this past week. From the depths of his depression, Jim's words had pulled Tristan into acceptance; he'd finally begun to accept that he'd been motivated out of fear and not anger and he'd finally begun to accept that because of his actions, he may never get Ellie back no matter how desperately he apologized. He'd made his bed, but that didn't mean he was giving up just yet.

It was in this state of acceptance that he'd texted Pierce, telling him that they needed to talk, if he could come over first thing after work. He hadn't received a response, but he assumed that meant Pierce would be showing up; he was right.

Opening the door, Tristan gave his darkly brooding friend a tight smile, moving aside to let him enter.

"You called, I'm here," Pierce began, slightly annoyed. "This better be important – I had three prospective models waiting for me."

 _That meant nothing._ Pierce was just trying to give him a hard time. "I'm withdrawing from the competition," Tristan offered bluntly, giving his friend the directness he desired.

Pierce turned to glare at him, black fire burning in his eyes. "No, you're not."

"Seriously?" Tristan laughed incredulously. "Yeah, I am."

"Why? Because of a stupid—" He stopped here, catching himself and Tristan venomous stare before continuing. "Because of the girl?"

"Yes, and no," Tristan sighed, grabbing his water bottle and heading for the couch, assuming Pierce would follow him. He did, but wouldn't sit, instead leaned casually up against the window waiting for a better explanation. "I love her."

"Yeah, already knew that," came the bored response.

"She has cancer, Pierce," Tristan admitted, the words still sounding funny on his tongue even though he'd repeated them over and over to himself the past several hours, waiting for the bone-deep fear to sink it and tell him to run; it hadn't.

"Yeah, I know that too," Pierce said, looking away from Tristan now.

"Did Sloane tell you?"

"No, she did. Sloane just confirmed it."

 _What?_ Tristan gaped at his friend, dumbfounded by his statement.

"Don't look at me like that, Tristan," Pierce sneered. "I didn't know it was cancer, or I'm sure I would have told you." _Yeah, that sounded convincing._ "I knew she was sick the day that I met her. I was trying to scare her a little, you know, see how tough she was. I told you I was going to kill her and she told me that I'd have to get in line."

After the first second of shock wore off, Tristan let out a bark of laughter. _Only his Ellie would be able to calmly reply to someone trying to threaten her life._

"You know if you do something like that again, I'll have to kill you though, right?" Tristan said.

"You could try," Pierce replied nonchalantly, "but, you won't need to. I'm more afraid of her than I am of you."

"Funny."

"So, what the fuck does her having cancer have to do with anything, let alone this competition?"

Tristan sighed, his lips thinning at his impending answer. "I fucked up Pierce. Really fucking bad."

"Yeah? Which option did you chose? I'm assuming you told her the truth and it backfired," he surmised. "You knew there was that chance."

"No, I didn't pick either choice," he began, regret filling his tone. "I told her a lie, but I told it to her with an anger that made her believe it was the truth. I told her that I never cared about her; I told her that I had only used her heartbreak as revenge and that I no longer needed her nor did I love her."

"Wow," Pierce said, almost at a loss for words. "And everyone thinks I'm the fucking heartless asshole." Tristan eyes flared at him. "Right, sorry. I'm just shocked and that's not typical for me. Continue, please."

"I was angry that she'd kept it from me so I lashed out. More than that, I was afraid of having to watch her die; I didn't think I could survive losing another person I love that way. Now, I know that I can't survive without her, however long that is."

"That's some fucking sappy shit, Tris," Pierce laughed, "but, I know how painful that can be."

He ignored Pierce's snarky comments, knowing they came from a similar place of hurt. "I'm withdrawing from the competition because I need to get her back. I have no fucking clue how I'm going to do that, but worrying about a competition is not it."

"You don't have her portrait done, do you?" Pierce antagonized him, refusing to believe that he just saw no point in participating.

"Yes, I do, and that's not the reason," Tristan replied firmly.

"Let me see it." His nostrils flared in annoyance, but rather than drag this on, Tristan stood up to uncover the easel that was sitting in the living room, turning it to face his friend.

Now, Pierce was speechless. He walked up to the drawing and just stared in awe.

"Believe me now?" Tristan demanded.

"You have to submit this," Pierce whispered, his hand reaching out partially before he pulled it back to cover his mouth. "Tristan, you have to submit this."

"No. Why?" _What difference would it make?"_

"Because you'll win."

 _What the fuck was wrong with Pierce?_ Never in a million years would he admit to something like that.

"I don't understand."

"She loves you," he began, "I knew that. _Now,_ I know just how much you love her. I see it all over her face because she saw it in you." Tristan's eyes widened in shock; he'd never seen Pierce this emotional about anything. Ever. "This is incredible, Tristan. If I didn't know better, I would tell you that my fucking non-existent heart hurts seeing just how much love she has for you. You can't not show this," he finished on a whisper, practically begging Tristan to do as he asked.

"I…" he didn't even know how to respond. "It's not going to help me get her back. And now I think she's leaving the country. _Fuck,"_ he cursed, remembering that he was running out of time.

"No," Pierce said harshly, "it will. And she's not fucking leaving in the next two days, not if I have anything to say about it."

Floored by the sound of his own feelings reflected in Pierce's voice, he asked, "what do you mean?"

"Any woman who looked at you like this, knows that you are just as in love with her as she is with you. That means she also knows just what a huge fucking pile of bullshit everything you told her was. The only reason she isn't here is because she knows how much it would hurt you; she's running away because she loves you, not because you've made her hate you," Pierce explained, irritation laced in his tone for having to explain something that seemed so obvious.

 _How did Pierce even know what love looked like? Or what it looked like reflected from him?_ Now was not the time, but there was so much more to what that thief had stolen than Pierce had led them to believe.

"I don't know," he replied hesitantly. Even though he knew just how perceptive Ellie was to peoples' true feelings, he couldn't give himself that much hope of forgiveness.

"Christ, Tristan, if she sees this – if she sees you, it will be enough," Pierce continued, pausing in annoyance at the still disbelieving look on his friend's face. "If you can stand there and tell me that your work hasn't made her see the truth in herself, then I will drop this and walk right out the fucking door – but, you can't, can you?"

Tristan just stared, knowing he couldn't deny what Pierce was saying.

"Just submit the fucking piece and let me handle getting her there. You'll know what you have to do when you see her."

Tristan dropped his head, perplexed by what was happening right now. "Why are you doing this? I know we're good, but you hate feelings. Why would you help me?"

"Now that," he laughed, "that doesn't make any fucking difference. There are truths about life – that you love her, that she loves you; you can't change those truths. The dares though, the dares of life are all yours to fuck with. So, either you trust me and dare to get her back or you don't."

Tristan clenched his teeth; staring hard into the dark abyss of his friend's unwavering gaze, he said the words everyone knew better than to say to Pierce – "I trust you."

A smile spread over Pierce's face, not dark this time, just determined. "Good."


	36. Chapter 35

Chapter 35

 _This was not a good idea._

Tristan's déjà vu was really fucking with his head – standing at the Met, again, waiting for the exhibit to begin, again, and wondering what the fuck Pierce was up to… again.

He'd heard nothing after Pierce had left on Thursday or all day Friday – not a word. He'd been about to call the whole thing off Saturday morning when Pierce had texted him

\- _You better fucking be there._

Five, hardly-explanatory, words were all he'd gotten. But, for the dumb little light of hope in his chest, it was all he needed. Putting on his favorite, custom Armani suit, he'd taken one more look at the drawing he'd done, silently praying he would soon see that face again, before wrapping it up and heading to the museum.

Now, he stood in front of the portrait hung in the exhibition hall, scanning the crowd for either Ellie or Pierce. It had been an hour and they were about to start counting the votes, and there was no sign of either of them. His jaw clenched in frustration.

 _If Pierce was wrong…_

His foot tapped in impatience as he heard the sound of the microphone turning on over the speakers.

 _"Ladies and Gentlemen,"_ Bernard's voice boomed through the room as the crowd began to migrate towards the small podium, " _thank you for coming to this special exhibit here at the Met. We've just finished collecting all of the votes, but while we count them, I would like to invite each of the ten artists present to come up here and give us a little bit of background to their pieces."_

Tristan rolled his eyes, annoyed that there was suddenly a public-speaking component to this event.

 _More annoyed that the only reason he'd even fucking come here had yet to walk in the door._

He heard the voice over the microphone drone on as the other participants went up one by one to give a small blurb about their work. Pulling out his phone, he opened up his message to Pierce.

 _Where the fuck are you? This was a mistake._

No response. Shoving his phone back into his pocket, Tristan turned to head towards the door just one second too late.

" _Mr. Black!"_ Bernard exclaimed, " _If you would like to share with us a little about your piece?"_ He stared Tristan down with insistence and expectation.

Tristan sighed, his first instinct was to just turn and leave. _But that was what had started this mess._ In that moment, he finally reached the culmination of his last stage of grief at losing Ellie; he accepted that she wasn't coming, that whatever Pierce had done or said hadn't been enough, and that was understandable given what he'd done to her. At the same time, he also accepted that no amount of space or distance or time would ever change the fact that he loved her with every fiber within him. And because of that, instead of running, he felt the overwhelming urge to at least let the world – or just those guests here – know just how much the exquisite woman in his drawing meant to him.

He strode towards the podium, taking in the awe-inspired and expectant faces around him; they'd been waiting to hear from him.

"Good afternoon, everyone," he began hoarsely, uselessly scanning the crowd one more time from the slightly higher vantage point. "My name is Tristan Black, but some of you might know me better as Titian." A collective gasp rung through the substantial audience. He hadn't been prepared to reveal that, but somewhere along his path to the stage he realized that he couldn't go on in that capacity with the Guild any longer. With Ellie, definitely not, but even without her, he couldn't stomach the thought of continuing at least in the same way as before.

"If you know the Guild, you know our sole focus has been to master our love of art. Over the past several years, I think you would agree that we've managed to accomplish that. This piece, however, that I'm presenting today was the hardest portrait I've ever tried to make. The woman in it changed my life. She stumbled into my studio and had the audacity to tell me that she didn't think she was beautiful enough to be there." He stopped to laugh and wipe his eyes at the memory. "As you can see, she had no idea what she was talking about." The crowd chuckled at that. "Sorry, I'll keep this short. Somewhere in the process of convincing her just how exquisite she really is, I was mastered by the art of love. It crept inside of me and slowly began to spread and it was just when I lost her that I realized how completely it had consumed me."

He stopped again to wipe his eyes, still no sign of Pierce or Ellie in the room.

"I created her portrait from memory; it was the first time that she told me that she loved me, and it's the one thing that I wanted to immortalize. Drawing this was the only thing I could do to cope with losing her, it was the only thing I had left to show her just how much I loved her. She was the first person to love the real me, she was my light, a constantly burning source of inspiration to love and live, which is why this is the first piece I've ever shown that I've signed with my own name. And that's why it's here today – not because she loved me, but because I want the world to know that I, Tristan Black, love her."

He turned and stepped down from the microphone, not stopping as Bernard called after him, not stopping as he walked through the mass of people that had gathered, most of them drying tears from their eyes as their empathy began to suffocate him. He pushed out the door, shutting it firmly behind him grateful that the hallway was completely empty. Taking deep breaths of the emotion-free air, he took a few steps before collapsing onto the bench against the wall, dropping his head into his hands and trying to blink away the annoying wetness in his eyes. He was a mess of relief, sadness, and anger.

 _Where the fuck was Pierce? What had happened?_ The worst thought – _was Ellie ok? Fuck. Pierce was going to–_

"Tristan?"

His heart and thoughts stopped. His breathing ceased. He was afraid to move and have his hope shatter around him. His name had been spoken so softly, so tenderly that it couldn't have been real.

Just when he'd convinced himself that it was his mind playing tricks on him – "Tristan."

 _It wasn't a trick._

The still soft, but confident ring of his name resounded down the hall followed by the soft pad of footsteps approaching him. His face jerked up out of his hands to behold the sight before him.

"Ellie?" he rasped, his voice hoarse with emotion and disbelief. He watched as walked towards him from the other end of the hall, the sunlight streaming in through the windows, reflecting off her vibrant hair, her emerald eyes alight with tenderness.

 _God, she would always be able to bring him to his knees._

She stopped in front of him and he stood, disbelief written all over his tear-filled eyes. "Are you really here?" he whispered, his hand raising just to the side of her face.

He could see that the vision in front of him was on the verge of crying, yet she responded, "did you think you'd be able to get rid of me that easily?"

His lips found hers because he didn't have a choice. He loved her, he needed her and she was here. Her mouth opened beautifully beneath his, as though he'd never hurt her, never left her, never broken her heart.

 _He didn't deserve her, but he would take her anyway._

He kissed her with every ounce of love and emotion that he'd kept from her, that he'd kept inside this past week, and she absorbed it all. "Fuck, Ellie," he whispered against her lips, "I'm so fucking sorry, siren." He kissed her again, unable to stop out of fear that she would vanish right out from underneath him. It was only when she finally pulled back that he let her breath.

"Shh," she murmured, "it's ok. I'm here."

"I don't know why," he said hoarsely, losing himself in her eyes, "I was a fucking coward, gorgeous. Everything I said, and did – _Christ,_ I'm such an ass."

"Shh… I know why, Tristan. I know," she tried to comfort him. Her understand clear in her glassy, green eyes.

"I love you so damn much, just tell me that you know that, and then I can let you go."

She laughed softly, "I do know that, but I don't want you to let me go. If I wanted that, I wouldn't have come here."

"Why are you here? After everything I did…said…" he groaned, agony ripping through him at the memory of how he treated her.

"Because I know it wasn't the truth, I could see the hurt and fear in your eyes – I've seen it before. But, mostly because I love you…and because Pierce threatened me if I didn't get in his car." She said it with a laugh, trying to lighten the torture he was putting himself through.

"When you told the doctor about your cancer, all I could think about was when my mother died. She loved me, and I lost her and my father. I lost so much and I was hollow for so long, until I met you," he paused to take a steadying breath, "and then you fucking filled me and lit up a world that I'd tried to pretend I didn't want to be a part of. The thought…the fear that I would lose you to; it felt like my heart stopped and everything just went dark."

"Tristan, it's ok. I know, I've seen it before and more than tha—" Ellie tried to interject but he kissed her quiet.

"Just let me get this out, siren, then you can ramble all you want," he loving teased as he placed soft kisses all around her lips. "I love you."

"I know, I heard you tell everyone. Pierce had me watch from behind the stage, he said if you saw me it would ruin everything. You won, you know," she whispered back with a loving smile. "You left before you heard, but they chose you. Well, me." Ellie placed her hand over his heart. "They chose us. I love you, too, Tristan."

"This past week without you has made me realize that it's not your cancer that was a problem for me, it was mine. Fear has been my cancer. It damaged me to the point where I couldn't even truly see myself anymore, I was just a shell, until I met you. You showed me the possibilities of feeling, of loving, of living. I wasn't prepared for the thought that it could all be taken away, and in that moment, I gave in to my cancer; I won't do that ever again. It's not a life – to live in fear. I need you – I need you lighting my world every fucking day for as long as I can have you, no matter how long that is. I will be here with you, loving you, fighting for you, with you... I choose life with you. I choose love with you. Please, forgive me."

His hands were cupping her face, his thumbs wiping away the tears that were streaming in full force from her exquisite eyes. She cried silently against his hands, so overwhelmed with love.

"Tristan," Ellie choked out between sobs, "I already forgave you. I forgave you as soon as you left the hospital room. I knew why you said those things, which is why I left you alone, as much as it killed me. I stayed away because I didn't want to hurt you. I didn't want the sight of me to bring you more pain. But, of course, I forgave you. I love you too much to let your stupid fear ruin everything that happened between us."

He chuckled, resting his forehead on hers. "Of course, you did. You are so unpredictable. Unbelievable. You are so good. I don't deserve you, but I will work every day to try to." He paused and kissed her gently again.

"Tristan, there's something else I have to tell you," Ellie said, putting her hand on his chest, love brimming through the tears in her eyes. "The doctors told me that I'm still in remission; it's not back, the cancer isn't back – I just had the flu. I mean, it's never a guarantee, but for now, I am here and I am ok."

"Thank fucking God," Tristan rasped, a few lone tears slipping out of his eyes at her news. "It wouldn't change my choice if it were, but thank fucking God. Now, just tell me what you want me to do. What do you want Ellie? I just want you to be happy, and if you want to feel alive, then I will spend every day making sure you are living life to the fullest; I will do anything for you."

"Tristan, I just want you," she replied simply, love shining in her face. "I just want you to live my life with. Feeling alive has nothing on feeling in love."

"I will do that, siren. Starting right now," he said as a hungry smile crept over his face.

 _Finally, she was his._


	37. Epilogue

Epilogue

 _Knock. Knock. Knock._

The soft rapping startled Tristan; he'd been in bed, mesmerized by his sleeping siren, watching her rest peacefully after he'd kept them in bed all night. Carefully sliding out of the bed, he pulled on his sweats and padded quietly out of his bedroom not wanting to disturb her.

Opening up the door, he was surprised to see Pierce on the other side, holding a wrapped-up frame.

 _Ellie's portrait from the competition._

"I figured you wanted this back," Pierce grumbled.

Tristan moved to the side and motioned for him to come in. "Yeah, thanks. I completely forgot about it."

"Where is she?" Pierce asked, not seeing Ellie in the apartment.

"Sleeping."

A knowing smirk crossed Pierce's face. "Well, I just wanted to drop this off and let you know that you won."

"Seriously?" Tristan responded, shocked.

"Don't fucking rub it in. You knew you were going to win with her." Pierce rolled his eyes, his words evoking more than one meaning.

"It was a little touch-and-go for a minute," Tristan responded with a hint of annoyance. "You think you cut it a little close there? I honestly thought you weren't coming."

Pierce just laughed. "We were there the whole time. I just made sure you couldn't see her."

"Why?"

"Because you needed to accept how you felt about her; you needed to admit it even when you felt like there was no hope left, that she wasn't going to come. You've done nothing but doubt your fucking feelings and what to do about them. I didn't want to have you see her when there could still be some of that doubt lingering."

Tristan just stared at his friend, wondering where this perceptive person was buried underneath all of the layers of asshole that Pierce made a point of showing. "How did you even get her to come? To agree to that?" Tristan asked, his curiosity peaked.

"You don't want to know," came his friend's dark response.

 _Pierce was right; he didn't._

All he cared about was that whatever he had done had worked.

Tristan sighed, accepting that he might never know what had happened or why Pierce had done what he'd done. "So, you pissed that I gave up my name?" That was the other much smaller knot in his stomach, wondering if his friends would be mad that he revealed his identity without really consulting them first.

"No," Pierce scoffed, "now, I get to win everything by default." He laughed, as Tristan heard the slight twinge of sadness in his tone.

"Hey, I'm still going to be doing restorations. I can't give that up and leave all those masterpieces in your not-as-capable hands," Tristan shot back with a smile that emphasized his joke.

"I see that being in love has turned all your rational thoughts into delusions."

Tristan cracked a smile, glad that he and Pierce had returned to their normal competitive banter.

"Delusions? Ha!" Tristan laughed. "I can't fucking wait to see you like this – to see you in love."

"Not possible," Pierce answered simply. "Need a heart to be able to fall in love."

"I think there's one in there for someone to find."

"Not if I have anything to say about it; I'm too much of an asshole remember?" Pierce tried to remind him. "Plus, the heart is dumb, I'm far too adept at scheming to be caught up in that shit."

"Because your schemes always work out in your favor…"

"Hey! You shouldn't be complaining here. My schemes just made you the happiest asshole this side of the nuthouse. It has left me with the opportunity to have my paintings be front and center at the exhibits, and now that you've recused your stiff ass from being involved, it means things are about to get a whole lot more interesting," Pierce informed him confidently.

"Hey, even though I'm cutting back my involvement in that way, I'm still in-fucking-charge here. Don't think this means you're going to get away with any more than you were," he warned Pierce.

"We'll see," his friend responded, slyly. "Looks like my schemes will just have to be transferred onto Sloane. He's just really not as much fun to play with," he finished lamenting pulling out his phone, a look of intrigue springing over his face.

"Good luck with that. I'm not even worried for Sloane, the man never lets anything get to him," Tristan said, watching as Pierce seemed to be reading something over and over again, trying to process. "Everything ok?"

"It might be a lead." Pierce's dark eyes flashed.

 _A lead on the painting that had been stolen from him._

"Where?"

"I have to go handle this," he replied sharply, the hardened edge of anger returning to his composure at the reminder of this unresolved issue from the past. "I'll let you get back to—"

"Don't," Tristan said sharply, stopping his friend before the lewd comment that he knew was coming.

Pierce just snickered and headed for the door. "I'll see you around."

"Thank you for everything, seriously," Tristan said sincerely.

"You know I hate it when you guys are serious about anything," he retorted, "but, you're welcome." Pierce finally acquiesced to the gratitude as he punched the button for the elevator.

"Later." Tristan closed his door, turning to face his portrait that had won the competition.

 _It still wasn't as good as the real thing._

And that was ok because now he had the real thing, he couldn't care less about the failings of the portrait. His mind drifted for a moment back to the Guild; this was the end of a chapter for them…or for him at least. His role would be changing, but they'd figure out a way.

 _Hey, at least no one could say that they'd fallen into a routine of predictability._

He was sure there was going to be a media shit-storm Monday morning, if it wasn't already happening, about his reveal. But that was something for another day, something for Morgan to handle.

He began to walk back into the bedroom. Right now, he couldn't find it in himself to care about anything except Ellie.

"Hey there," she murmured when he walked back into the room.

"Hey yourself, siren," he smiled, looking at the beautiful woman lying in his bed, right where she belonged. The soft late-morning sun streaming in through the window, setting her aglow with life.

 _She was exquisite._

"Pierce?"

"Yeah," he answered, coming to sit on the edge of the bed by her. "He didn't…cross the line, did he? To get you to come to the exhibit?"

Ellie's eyes widened for a second at the suggestion before she quickly deterred that thought from his mind. "Oh, no. Nothing like that, I promise," she reassured him. "He told me a story is all."

His eyebrows raised, wondering what that meant, wondering if Pierce had opened up about his past to…Ellie? At this point, he wouldn't be surprised. She just knew how to read people, to empathize with them without saying a word.

"What?" she asked, watching as he just continued to stare at her.

"You just amaze me," he whispered, taking her hand to kiss the back of it. "I'm so in love with you."

Ellie moaned softly, her deep green eyes looking up at him, a familiar shimmer glossing over their vibrancy. "I wish you were so inside of me," she whispered seductively.

His body immediately turned to hardened fire.

"That wish, I can grant," he said hoarsely, standing as he stripped off his sweats, his gaze never leaving hers; his body proudly erect before her. Grabbing the edge of the covers, he tossed them to the side, exposing her completely naked body to his gaze.

She spread her legs as he climbed between them. Pressing the tip of his erection against her slick entrance, he slipped easily inside of her. Tristan watched as her eyes closed with pleasure as he began to move.

"I love you, Tristan," she moaned.

"I love you, siren," he responded as he thrust in and out of her, the friction between them building as he took them both to the edge of their climax. Their love making the pleasure even more intense as they succumbed to their intertwined release; their bodies shattering around them just as their love brought them back together.

Looking down at the gorgeously sated woman smiling up at him, Tristan slowly bent his head to hers and kissed her like the sun rose in the morning – as if it was the only thing he ever needed to do to light his world.

The End.

* * *

Thank you all SO much for reading! I hope you enjoyed Tristan and Ellie's story and I would love to hear your thoughts! As you know, this book is currently being sold on Amazon. If you loved the story, I would be ABOVE and BEYOND grateful if you would head on over to Amazon, search up The Artist's Touch, and leave your review - it costs *nothing* and you do *not* have to have purchased the book in order to leave a review. Besides myself, there are readers out there considering purchasing my book and I know that they would love to hear your thoughts on the story.

I don't think I can express adequately enough in words just how important reviews are to a new author and how much of a difference it would make for me if you would take two minutes of your evening and do me that honor. It doesn't have to be long or crazy - I just know how much some of the things y'all have commented on here or messaged me privately have truly touched my heart, and I'd love for other readers to be able to see that. Thank you in advance - the review process is truly how authors feel rewarded for the time and effort that we've put into our work. :)

The Gentlemen's Guild series continues with Sloane's story in 'The Sculptor's Seduction'. To show my appreciation, if you do leave a review on Amazon, send me a message with that review and I will email you the first chapter of his story as a 'thank you'!


	38. Update

Hi everyone!

Hope you enjoyed 'The Artist's Touch'! I've been getting several messages asking whether or not I'll be posting the second book in the series, the sculptor's seduction, on here.

Here are my thoughts: I like to post on here in order to get preliminary feedback on my books before I publish them. However, since this book isn't *technically* fanfiction, I'm not sure if I should post the second one on here. I would still like to have some beta-readers for the project. What is a beta-reader, you ask? Well, what it means it that you will get an *Advanced Reader's Copy* of the entire novel FOR FREE before publication. In return, you provide me with honest feedback both privately and then with a review on Amazon once the book is published.

If this is something that you are interested in, private message me and I'll give you more details! Thanks!

xx,

Rebecca


	39. The Sculptor's Seduction

Hey everyone! If you enjoyed the Artist's Touch - the second book in the Gentlemen's Guild series, The Sculptor's Seduction, is available on Amazon now to pre-order! Blurb is below! I'd put the link in here by FanFic will delete it, but if you search my name or the title on amazon it should show up :) If you run into any trouble, feel free to message me!

BLURB:

Sloane Peterson is a real estate mogul and sculptor - and a virgin. He is a member of the Gentlemen's Guild – a group of world-renown, anonymous artists. However, unlike the other artists of the Guild, Sloane never sleeps with his models; he's never slept with anyone for that matter and is determined to keep it that way. Tortured by his past, he has sworn to suppress his desire and remain celibate. Controlling that desire has never been a problem - that is until a wager with one of his best friends forces him to use Cyn as a model for his next sculpture.

Cynthia "Cyn" Rawling has given up on her dream of opening her own dance studio and teaching ballet because of how her last relationship ended - making her question her talents and her worth. Instead, she's put her Juilliard-honed skills to use dancing at the most prestigious strip club in town. There, she is controlled by no man. In fact, it is she who wields all of the control over their desire and she's never met a man who hasn't wanted her. Until Sloane. Cyn sees a man intent on punishing himself for something that was never his fault. Can she prove to him that he's not the danger that he thinks he is? Can she open his heart and his body to an intimacy that would change his life forever?

Sloane's unwavering restraint is tested by Cyn's determination to seduce him. Unfortunately, he can't help but see the strong, beautiful, angel hiding underneath her veil of sin and he's determined to set her free. But will he be able to help her without unleashing the demons of his past? Or will helping her free a desire for her that could destroy them both?


End file.
